You’re wearing a tracksuit. It’s 3:00 AM. You’re squatting next to a rusty Lada in a concrete jungle that smells vaguely of diesel. Your grandmother—your Babushka—is yelling at you from a second-story window, but you’re too busy rolling dice with a guy named Vlad who looks like he hasn't slept since the Berlin Wall fell.
Welcome to Gopnik.
