At 7:15 Thursday evening, Agne Urbaityte turned on a tiny electrical saw. She was dressed in a proper Soviet officer's uniform, and her white-haired father Julius Urbaitis—who stood silently in sunglasses, looking vaguely up to no good—watched as a piece of rope was severed and dropped to the floor for dramatic effect. It was a makeshift ribbon-cutting ceremony: Nearby, set up like a spread at a high school party from the 80s, was a table of Russian-inspired snacks (mainly puff pastries that incorporated cold eggs and smelly fish), and outside, red balloons swayed in the wind, illuminated by a string of candles placed on the sidewalk. Vladimir Lenin's face stared out the window, sternly peering at the passers-by. Inside, a man was playing the accordion beside an assortment of multicolored vodka.
"To a brighter future," Agne proclaimed. "Everything begins with ourselves."
In time, you might conclude that most of the household items Sergey has on hand can or did double either as a camera or some sort of weapon. The question-and-answer portion of his lesson became much easier following this realization.
"You can put it on, you know, as makeup, or write some message, like, 'I love you," Sergey said, alluding to lipstick that could also be used as a pistol. "And then, after, you know, you can kill people with it."
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