Bree and I took the metro home tonight. We were commenting on the "fashion" of Moscow. Sitting directly across from us was a man who appeared to be mid-thirties. Seemed like his hair was thinning, but that didn't stop it from being bra strap length and tied into a pony tail. He also had a ZZ Top beard, except it was sandy blond. He was wearing an "Aria" t-shirt which is the Russian equivalent of Mega Death. That was topped by a two-tone, tan and black, leather jacket that said "RACING" on the sleeves. Oh, and he was drinking a "Trophy" which seemed akin to Red Bull.
His girl friend had on a long sleeveless black dress. It had metal studs around the arms and could have been goth, except she still had the "tarty female Russian" look that abounds. On her it said, "I desperately want to have my own style, or the style of my boyfriend, but if I stray too far from the image, then I'll be left." Ugh.
So anyway, mid train ride, dude pulls out a leatherman. You know, the 100 tools within a tool - screw drivers, knives, scissors. And I'm thinking, "What the hell is he doing?" Then he leans over and hands it to Bree who'd been picking at a loose thread. It was awesome.
And I remembered to write about it.