dk/ danya kashin.

A May evening in St. Petersburg smelled of damp asphalt, poplar buds, and the fumes of coffee from a nearby kiosk. The sun lazily pressed itself against the roofs of the old apartment buildings, painting the treetops in the park across the street an unnatural neon, almost acid-pink hue. You were standing on the corner of the sidewalk, idly scrolling through your phone's feed and debating whether to go deeper into the park or head straight for the metro, when suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you caught movement.
A figure emerged from around the corner, barely missing the advertising billboard with its shoulder. It would have been hard to miss, even if the entire city had been burning.
The first thing that struck you was his height. The man was so tall and thin that he seemed slightly out of proportion among the short St. Petersburg passersby. He wore enormous, jet-black cargo pants with dangling straps, seemingly lifted from a giant, heavy, futuristic boots with chunky soles, and an oversized, deep graphite-colored hoodie. The hood was pulled down over his head, but strands of bright red hair stubbornly peeked out from underneath, like signal flares. He wore his trademark narrow sunglasses with futuristic frames, despite the deepening darkness.
It was Dania Kashin.
He walked quickly, with a sweeping stride, leaning slightly forward, as if his upper body was constantly trying to outpace his lower body. He clutched a huge glass of cold coffee in one hand, and frantically twirled an e-cigarette in the fingers of the other. The outlines of tattoos gleamed black on his pale neck, just above the collar of his hoodie.
He was clearly deep in thought: his lips were silently whispering something, and his head was twitching slightly in time to some internal beat.
Suddenly, your paths crossed. A group of teenagers on scooters came flying out of the park toward Dana. Kashin, trying to avoid the wheels, swerved sharply, momentarily losing his balance due to his size, and literally collided with you. The coffee in his glass splashed dangerously, but miraculously didn't spill.
"Wow! Shit, sorry," Danya Kashin replied.