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| 035: treasure Come late-December, Neva freezes over. Victoria follows the river from her parents’ old-town condo towards the open bay, her coat swaying by her feet. St. Petersburg is like architectural patchwork. History, quilted. There, the silhouette of baroque Smolny Cathedral - there, a hundred feet to her left, an apartment block enacted recently, sharp lines of twisted metal, polished glass. And in between, the rest. Neoclassicism. Remnants of Empire. Gothic towers, art nouveau, concrete-like imprints from Stalin in red and black. Her heartbeat, her body, her entire world; it opens around her, steals her breath and returns it, crispy-cold against her lips. |
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