The first thing I felt was earth, the night, and cracking grass beneath my feet. Wet black earth. I pluck a stem of sweet Annie – just beside the road to the river. Rub it, smell it. I let the air out till I am out of breath. Krylatskoye. Ah, those white carnations... White light kindled the sweet smell. A gust of wind – the smell of the river. I smell the fingers again... Cigarettes... Morning light shines through 46 bottles with the notes of memory. I trust every single one of them.