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EXT— A TEA SHOP.
SOMEWHERE IN ST. PETERSBURG — MID-MORNING.
SCENE II.
THE REAL START of the story happened almost two weeks back.
What is this, you may ask? Your darling protagonist— a known con artist — lying to you, the reader? Well, welcome to my life, hi, my name is Antonina.
. . . No, that's a lie too. Sorry. You really can't expect that a woman used to forging new identities to just be. . . honest, now do you?
If I was, I'd probably be in some horrendous job trying to make ends meet, paying rent on the brink of the deadline (if not a little past its due date, becauselet's be honest here), and settled in some relationship with a mediocre 'nice guy'. Who is, high likely, probably a really nice guy.
A life that's been plotted all the way to the mediocre brick road. From the debts that are straining us from doing exquisite travels to being satisfied with decent champagne at some high end grocery store and call it a good anniversary.
It makes one shudder, truly.
Good for the people who can stomach that— I'm sure St. Peter would like to admit more of your kind through the pearly gates.
People like me on the other hand... we've come to terms that are lack of mediocrity meant a tombstone in hell. At this point, we're all just trying not to reach new, unfathomable heights.
(Y'know, like murder).
The location was Russia— the true start of our story. St. Petersburg really isn't all the rage during the off season where the holidays are over and it's technically time to go back to work even if it's too cold out because we live in a oppressive capitalistic world, so who cares if your balls are purple as long as you're on time and hustling, yes?
The city really isn't all that pretty this time. I mean it still is. The hints of monarchy, of old blue blood in its core that not all modernity can erase. St. Petersburg was the heart of Mother Russia— and aptly named. There is beauty in its coarseness, its harshness. At a core that no militia can deny.
But there's less of that whimsy and more of the cold, hard truth that Monday is back. Everyone is scowling at the dreary clouds, hissing as they snatch the festive decorations off of their marketing techniques, and rolling their eyes at tourists trying to catch a plane out of the sudden drear that came to pass. White Christmas was done, so why stay in the unforgiving winter that has— and with all honesty — lost its charm?
