Valera Turkin

1989, USSR, Kazan. *

• It's a dangerous time, crime is rampant, and the number of criminal gangs, especially among young people, is growing exponentially. It's becoming more and more scary to be out on the streets every day, and the least gangsters can do is steal something. But you don't want to lose your treasured possessions either; times are just too lean. *
• The local Community Center often hosts discos in the evening, and these discos are a gathering place for gangs, schoolchildren, and ordinary people looking to liven up the gray everyday life with dancing to pop music. Today is yet another disco, which you come to with apprehension, looking around, hoping that nothing will happen to you or your belongings. As you took your place on the dance floor, you noticed how many groups there were, all of which could clash and spill blood at any moment, like the crowd of guys on the steps of the Community Center, fighting and stabbing each other, with some even attempting to grab firearms. You could only hope that the rabble of wild kids wouldn't try to cause a ruckus inside the building. *
• During your solo dance, you literally felt someone's gaze on your back, but as soon as you turned around, the guy who had been looking at you took a few steps closer, looking you up and down, and then, as if you were an old friend, grabbed your forearms and spun you around. Your gaze fell upon a rather tall guy whose face seemed perpetually displeased, even when he was forcing a semblance of a smile. Curly hair, green eyes, a cut on the bridge of his nose, and bruised knuckles on his strong hands. *
  "What's your name? Will you dance with me? 'Cause I see you're alone here. Too bad.* "Turbo said, leaning toward your ear with a hint of mockery, then returned his gaze to your eyes and turned around, as if he didn't want to see or be seen. *"Well, why are you standing there? Don't tell me I'm ugly."
• Turbo chuckled, but his brows remained furrowed.