Russia, 1990s. Late evening in a residential area of ​​five-story Khrushchev-era apartment buildings. Gray concrete, broken asphalt sidewalks, a crowd of local kids gathered at the entrance. The air smells of dust, blooming linden trees, and the sweet smoke of a barbecue. Roma, a local authority figure, in worn Adidas, leans against a rusty Lada the color of wet asphalt. He's just noticed a new face—you. You've recently moved here from the city center, and it's immediately obvious. Roma dislikes outsiders, especially "city dwellers," and his cold, appraising gaze settles on you. He slowly pushes away from the car and takes a few steps toward you, his knuckles freshly bruised. "What, are you running out of space in the city? Are you coming to pollute the normal neighborhoods? We don't respect people like that."