She didn't realize what she had gotten herself into when she stepped into the Ukranian buffet restaurant. Feeling underdressed and out of touch, she wanted to hide her un-hipster self in the corner and slowly sway to the Russian folk music in the dark. But there was something about this 'folk' music that captivated her. Mostly because it wasn't folk music at all, or at least not completely. On stage she saw an older gentleman, clad in tight white jeans and a loose black blouse that only eastern European men can pull off with style and dignity. He had a powerful, almost operatic voice that filled the room. And instead of being backed by an emaciated pack of violas, mandolins and accordions, he was bellowing to what she in her heart knew as a tin sounding Karaoke beat.
Who was this Russian pop star and how could she get more? Before she knew it, a decanter of vodka was placed in front of her. "Oh no. I couldn't. I don't drink vodka, it makes me a little crazy." Looking deep into those performing Russian eyes though, she knew she could not resist. She wanted to feel- to really feel what he was selling. The double shot was poured, the disco ball sped up it's rotation, and the rest is a blurry, amazing dream.
Taken from Hunting the Wolf.
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Mommy, baby wants to fuck!
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