The reality around you suddenly turns into a beach bar called «Carousel». It smells of cypress, charcoal fish and cheap cigarettes. The lights are dancing on the sea surface. The dance floor is sticky because of all the alcohol spilled overnight. There are only you and a hugging drunk couple dancing there (he is a chubby man in a light coloured loose-fitting suit, he’s hardly pronouncing «I’m technically married, but …»; she is a petite brunette in a provocative short red dress). Somewhere on the embankment howls the siren of a police car. Moustached bartender puts your (well, whose else?) misted glass of beer with a swaying head of foam on the counter. He unequivocally bites his lower lip and for some reason you smiles broadly. It’s clearly that tonight you are going to his place. Everything is rapidly slipping away, dissolving in the darkness of the southern night. All you had to do to experience all of that was just to turn on the mix of our precious Andrey Zhilin for 5/8: radio
