Aleksei sat in his dimly lit apartment in Saint Petersburg, the "Piter" of his soul. Outside, the Neva was a sheet of slate grey. He had a long night ahead—the M-11 highway was calling, a 700-kilometer stretch of asphalt between him and a new life in Moscow.
"From Piter to Moscow," the lyrics hummed, "where the lights don't blink, they just stare." ot pitera do moskvy mp3 skachat
As the sun began to bleed over the Moscow skyline, turning the Stalinesque skyscrapers into golden giants, the song reached its final crescendo. Aleksei rolled down the window. The cold morning air of the capital rushed in, clashing with the warmth of the car. Aleksei sat in his dimly lit apartment in
Petersburg route, or perhaps a for a Russian road trip? the "Piter" of his soul. Outside