Dear Far Flung Friends,
I write to you from the top of a sky scraper, overlooking Moscow's famous Arbat Street. The human bid me balance precariously on this edge, seeming to value my safety less than a menial photo opportunity. She vexes me to the highest degree.
As I await news from the esteemed editors at the Georgia Review, I am looking for love in the busy streets of Moscow. I have already dated several matrioshka dolls, and find them to be incredibly engaging and mystifying creatures. Just when you think you've gotten to know them, you discover an entire other layer, more complex and delicate than the one previous. It is a delight.
Na zdrovye,
Naked Man
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