“It happened in March, in March. On Tuesday. A quarter of a century has passed, and now it’s March again, and hundreds of people and thousands of events have slipped through the holes in my memory, and I remember that day like it was yesterday. However, I’m lying, I don’t remember the day, only the evening and night. It was an ordinary day, a weekday, and I spent it lazing around in a run-down sharashka on Poltavskaya. Ordinary, standard and gray, where everyone who managed to graduate from some college was proudly called an engineer...”