A Moscow Journal

23 November 2001. A wizened stunted German Shepherd-looking stray dog strolled onto the metro tonight at about 10:45 pm. He had one eye closed, presumably from the war in Afghanistan or something and wore an expression of nonchalance, like a dog using public transport is an everyday thing. His look, through his one good eye, sent a feeling of separation through me, like he had fallen victim of a hair brained experiment designed to plumb the depths of the dog's heart, and had been returned to his fate of walking canine on his 4 legs.

He walked casually up and down the aisle sniffing here and there catching whiffs of things folks had for dinner but eventually ended up waiting at the door. As the train was slowing down, he looked at me, with his one good eye, for a time calling my mere existential value into question; 'what have you experienced?' the eye asked. 'What have you seen, what have you endured, really? My operation is a metaphor for the grandest, and costliest, social experiment in the modern era.' I, of course, conceded. I was not about to argue with his one eye, an attempt of my own which would have betrayed my own subtle concession.

Steve Bulthus