The years passed are gradually turning into light years, one’s own memory begins to merge with history, and it is not clear where the cut-off line of private life is. Half a century ago, I was a teenager and lived in Zaporozhye, where even the small culture that the then government doled out to us trickled in drop by drop, and books were valued higher than foreign-currency jeans - however, we had never heard of such a marvel then.