#166

"A traditional Russian dance!" he yelled through his vodka. Feet stamping, beads of sweat appearing on his face, he danced. Through the thick air, strong, vivacious girls called for another round and yet another and he took down too large of a glass in two superhuman swigs. Violins played hotly and he threw his arms to the air, then crossed them again. He had seen too much in his violent life, but when drunk on blood-red patriotism and domestic liquor, these are things a man can't help.