?What do you know about art, Volk??

Maxim Abdullaev hurls the question through the airwaves as if it were an ax, cleaving pretense.

I cram my Nokia cell phone against my ear. Clattering dishes, jostling diners, and raised voices give me an excuse to delay answering his question. ?Hold on,? I say, then step downstairs to my table in the basement of Vadim?s Caf




Like this post? Subscribe to my RSS feed and get loads more!