There is no litter on the streets. Policewomen in powder-blue suits and heavy makeup stand in the middle of intersections, spinning on their heels and pointing their batons mechanically. Their job is to direct traffic in lieu of the perpetually dark stoplights, so they do it, even though the few cars on the streets are driven by military men who speed by, ignoring police and pedestrians alike. Since the country stopped receiving aid from the Soviet Union 10 years ago, everything has been put on pause. Descending into the bomb shelter turned subway is like finding the buried remains of Soviet-era Eastern Europe.
Passengers sit quietly with their hands folded.
When the power cuts off, as it often does, they wait in the darkness for hours. A few schoolchildren wander around peering at the plastic bottles of perfume, but no one buys anything. One fluorescent bulb casts an eerie blue light across the entire floor, a boarded-up escalator in the middle. Scrounging for rice. Busy trying to survive.