Poland - The woman who walks by making faces at her reflection as she adjusts her outfit. Completely absorbed with her momentary beautifying task while walking by, as if she were in a room by herself with a mirror, she is oblivious or indifferent to the airport full of people who may be watching her. The group of Russian men. Identifiable in their identical charcoal colored suits, black tee shirts, shiny black shoes, silver watches, and mostly shaved heads in a hurry as they scuttle by. I hear them speaking Russian. And so, I sit in an American style pub restaurant that reminds me of a very small TGI Fridays. The walls are covered with cool old school 1950s signs. Pepsi-cola, Phillips 66, red rock cola, and that sort of thing. If that weren't enough, they
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