Russian bratva

Excuse me? Do you ..? She stood a few meters away from the bench I was sitting on. She leaned forward a little as if she wanted to be much closer but didn’t dare. She looked a little scared. Afraid and curious at the same time. She wore a black short dress and heels. Her hands were folded against her face as if she wanted to ask me something. It was November and quite cold, so she was sparsely dressed for the season. I had been sitting on the bench for about half an hour, smoking a Cuban cigar and listening to Lou Reed’s New York while watching the ferries going back and forth out on the harbour. It reminded me of New York and Reed´s “Dirty Blvd.” reinforced the feeling.

Excuse me? Do you…? She said again hesitantly. I assumed she was wondering if I was talking on the phone. I sat with the phone in my hand and had earplugs in.

No; I replied. She just stood there looking at me. Can we take a picture together, she said after a while? I looked at her a little puzzled. I didn’t quite understand why, but I said yes of course. She turned and waved at another girl I had not noticed until now. She was dressed almost identically. I got up from the bench. Where do you want me – I said? Here is fine, she replied and lined up and posed. Her friend picked up her phone and was ready to take the photo. She had her arm gently around me. Are you from Russia – she suddenly asked? From Russia I replied surprised. Why do you think that? Well; she said, pulling away from me a little slowly. She walked slowly backwards now as if she was trying to escape. Well; you kind of look like a Russian gangster. A Bratva I replied – and that hardly helped the impression. The two girls in short black dress and high heels turned and jogged into the restaurant they probably came from.

Now they had a nice story to tell. And a picture to prove that they had met a Russian bratva down by the docks.