Almost two years ago, on the eve of the 50th anniversary of Russia’s victory over the Nazis, I experienced the quintessential evening of Moscow Decadence. It began at around midnight in the parking lot of the Young Pioneer’s stadium. My friends, a mixture of Europeans and techno-Russians, spread the goods atop a mirror: an 8-ball of whiff cut into rails as long as asparagus stalks, 6 caps of X, and some diazapams to smoothe the ride. (more…)
There’s been an ever-growing competition, particularly among Moscow’s male expats and the women who keep company with them, to prove their decadent credentials. Each carries with them their CV of perversions and drug binges, and brags about their decadent ways…
There was an earlier version of this very column that was much better. But it got spiked. Matt didn’t like it, and nowadays, what Matt says, goes. See, I sold him the eXile for a song-or rather, a dirge. And…
Now that I’m back in print, I’m starting to hear it all over again: Ames, are you some kind of anti-Russian? The short answer is, if I didn’t like it here, I’d leave. The long answer goes something like this:…
I’ll write stories that will make them come from the ends of the earth to kill me… then at last it will be over, and that’ll be fine with me. – Celine I have a contract out on me. Not…