“...Trees, bushes, crunchy paths. The rulers of past states and departments are exiled here. The exploits and atrocities were left behind, at the turn of the century, and the monuments, like lost sclerotics, were gathered around the city and taken to the grass under the crowns. People's commissars, marshals, unbending soldiers of forgotten fronts, granite, concrete, cast from non-ferrous metal alloys, deprived of areas, pedestals, some are completely shamefully laid in the grass. You can touch everyone and sit down on your knees for a cool photo. And the old people are only happy. They stick out from the thickets, peeking out from behind the bushes. They turned into forest spirits, satyrs and bacchus, into all the evil spirits that inhabit forests, parks and reservoirs...”