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Just do not invent anything, speculate, analyze, listen to your own nostalgia or try to understand someone else's - it will not help. More than that, it hurts. You just have to swim into this courtyard at the Nikitsky Gate, like into a river, and then ...

Just do not invent anything, speculate, analyze, listen to your own nostalgia or try to understand someone else's - it will not help. More than that, it hurts. You just need to swim into this courtyard at the Nikitsky Gate, like into a river, and then you will feel that you don’t want to leave here. Not connected - everything will be by.

Ten years they have been floating up and connecting, but not everyone succeeds, because they still have to get on the "Songs of our yard". What can I say about the performance in honor of the decade, when there are no crowds among the VIPs, but spit in my eyes if someone calls this action a glamorous party. It has always been out of the party and out of time. Or rather, across time - that of the mid-90s, that of the present. The current one, especially.

The time machine is designed by armchair scientists, and the craftsmen build the ship. Strongly, okay, under yourself, the wind in the sails is provided, because Mark Rozovsky cannot be calm in principle. Sometimes you want to take a break, but you won't. Sometimes it seems to me that he would have coped alone, without his wonderful team - and would have sung for everyone, and played, and told - but you can’t drink so much, and you don’t need to.

It rained, of course. For completeness of sensations, only it was not enough.