Suddenly, my attention is drawn to someone who appeared out of nowhere. A man, about 45, wearing a half-unbuttoned solid wine-colored shirt, black trousers, glassy eyes, and a staggering gait. He approached a gloomy Russian girl near me with an air of ownership. He started asking standard questions: How are you, what are you doing here, are you by any chance from Russia? Having received no answer to any of his questions, the gentleman cursed in a very rude and primitive way and told the girl to get lost. "Wow," I thought, "what a nasty guy." The guy, already on his way in the opposite direction, as if he had heard my thoughts, turned sharply and walked straight towards me. I became wary. Getting close, he said something like, "Can you believe what a cow? She didn't even say hello..." I shrugged meaningfully, as if to say, "well, things happen." The man clearly had no intention of going where he came from. He told me how he had just downed two bottles of wine at some cool party (and he smelled quite strongly of it, by the way). Kirya arrives. A conversation starts. Dave is clearly happy to meet some unusual young people. At first, he was sure we were Americans. He wasn't just cheerful. He was insolently, slyly cheerful. There was something in him completely unknown to me. An extraordinary looseness and confidence in everything. A radically new and personal view of absolutely everything. And those transparent, sadly meaningless eyes—not of an alcoholic, but of an alien creature disappointed by everything in the world, yet acting like the king of this entire universe. I had never met anyone even remotely like him. He was both repulsive in his strange alienness and attractive at the same time. All his fountains of speech were absorbed instantly. Soon his partner Alon joined us. He was about 25, pale red-haired, tall and thin, modestly sober, and infinitely polite.

During the conversation, it dawned on me who they were. Both turned out to be famous photographers. They shoot celebrities and politicians. Dave is also a cameraman. (I remembered "Underworld" from everything he shot, as the title of this film has a uniquely known translation). And they were hanging around the station because they were supposed to follow some politicians who had long since left. (And, as I guessed, they were late because of Dave). Around 3 or 4 o'clock, Dave got the urge to walk around NY, which he immediately announced, inviting Kirya and me for a walk. I probably would have loved to, if not for our luggage... I made an excuse that I was very tired. But the rascal Dave saw right through everything. "Alon will stay here while we walk! Right, Alon? Or are you afraid for your stuff? Come on, do you think we're some kind of crooks? We probably wouldn't be carrying cameras worth $25,000." As if to prove his point, Dave unzipped an inconspicuous backpack, the space of which was completely occupied by something resembling a thick telescope. But for some reason, I didn't want to go anywhere. Although, how could I let Kirya go walking around NY at night with a near-stranger?? I still don't understand. We were left alone with Alon. There was an awkwardness. Alon noticed I wasn't very interested and started asking about Russia. Once again, I noted his extraordinary politeness and stature. Smooth, calm, literate speech. The complete opposite of Dave. He took out his camera and started showing photos of famous girls: actresses, singers... (I tried not to show surprise like "no way! oh my god! that's Reese Witherspoon! WOW! Sarah Michelle Gellar!"... etc... I just looked with the air of a connoisseur *). The photos were not just cool. Alive, real, glossy queens, beautiful girls shrunk to the size of a screen and looked at me with happy, lively eyes. What a job! He is so young (Alon is 22, as I later found out on his myspace) and already so famous, talented... (And what completely discouraged me: why does he treat us so familiarly, politely, shyly, insinuatingly? We should be nobody to them!). These are not paparazzi at all, as I first thought about these two. They are awesome professionals.

Kirya and Dave returned. (Later I found out that Dave was behaving as indecently as usual, that they passed by a wax museum (apparently Madame Tussauds) and Dave, pointing at a copy of Nicolas Cage, said he was a cool guy and that they had sat in a cafe together today, that when a homeless person approached them with a cup, Dave said "Go to hell! You probably make more than I do!" (and the average salary of New York "homeless" is $150 a day)).

Dave is a talker. It's impossible to talk that much! He told how he was in Russia in the 80s and saw our parents standing in kilometer-long lines for bread, saw soldiers dying in Afghanistan... he has two daughters my age and a wife he loves. But because of his wild lifestyle, she divorced him. I didn't even notice how this strange and seemingly dangerous person turned into someone close and familiar. I wanted to be with him longer, get to know him better, do something good for him. But this last American night was coming to an end. Dave was starting to sober up. His red eyes betrayed his suffering. And he makes a decision: "We'll drop off our Russian friends now and go home, I don't want to go anywhere else!". Taking all our heavy bags, Dave and Alon dragged them to the first bus to the airport. It was still dark. We said goodbye to them like family—with tight hugs and kisses. And I didn't want to leave at all...........................................................................................