I would trip balls every morning, first of all, because the apartment buildings there are some of my Stalinist Neoclassical buildings. I could slightly reimagine my Man-Who-Makes-the-Totentanz-Go-‘Round project. It would be:
Life on Gagarin Square!and it would be a magical and hysterical essay-novel that would describe my time in Moscow, fill the heart with joy and wisdom, draw parallels between the wintry climate of the city and the ghastly (both figuratively horrible, and, literally, ghoulish – but I’ll save that story) freezer in the basement of my old work, and wittily argue specifics of architecture built in the post-war Soviet period.
In other words, I’m nearing the time when I have to pay rent. I haven’t come to a conclusion, yet, if I want to stay in the dorm. Because my trip to England lands at the end of February/early March, I’ll have to secure housing for both months at the same time, ahora. Decisions. Decisions.
Whelp. I’m back to the expat housing-for-rent forums.
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