Today, near the Profsoyuznaya metro station, he watched a marvelous scene. Two dozen policemen led by the hands of the patrol car of a small, pike Caucasian. The story is quite trivial for Moscow, if not for the text that the detainee pronounced. Turning to one, then to another minister of order, he stainedly babbled: “Why are you guys? I am not Georgian, I am Azerbaijani. Yes, you look at the passport, it is written there.