Goodbye, Moscow. I'm going to miss your angry-looking Cyrillic signs.
Metallo Remont! Soomok Zontov!
I get my last Moscow metro to Paveletskaya station. Tears are shed.
I've said it once, I'll say it again: I am Andreas Gursky
Train, flight, Zurich, flight, tube. As I arrive at Stockwell, I almost expect to see the bleeding Polish man and middle-aged woman wandering around in a daze. But alas, they, like my holiday, are gone.
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