(Prints size 115x80 cm)
The situation in the city is mostly unchanged. Everyone is minding their own business: despite the blockade, entrepreneurs miraculously obtain goods from somewhere, - public utilities and doctors at their workplaces, - and from time to time the Russian military break into the houses of the territorial defense fighters or kidnap representatives of the local authorities. In some areas they are trying to introduce Russian rubles, sometimes they seize phones and cars by force. In the villages they come to visit literally every house. Perhaps they are looking for their tanks or to demilitarize tractors. But it seems more likely to me that they are spreading free humanitarian Z-fear to the residents. They simply have no other way to impose the “People's Republic” on the people of Kherson. This is not to say that they are not succeeding. I have been watching the Z-humanitarian aid dissolving quickly for several days now. There are not only pensioners in the line. I saw scenes of rolls of toilet paper being snatched out of people’s hands, as if they were the last ones for a lifetime. At the same time, grocery stores are open and they always have enough goods that can be paid for by cash or by card. Lots of people have already switched to the primitive reptilian survival mode of Hollywood movies. Over time, of course, they may feel shame, but there will always be excuses.  
Living in occupied territory confers one dubious advantage - you can have close contact with the Russian military. It seems that most Russians do not have such an opportunity. In their voices, faces, and words, as with citizens, a similar fatigue with what is happening and an understanding of the senselessness of this war are felt. Under the helmets, no doubt, there are heads with eyes that see and understand that there are no Nazis, “liberation”, victory parade or medals. Perhaps they are the most hopeful of peace negotiations. But every day, thousands of miles away, sofa troops get into their concrete tanks and turn their programmers on. They demand the reality they want to see, and the little green men must get it for them. The Storyteller has already spoken: acceptable losses are 30 or even 50 thousand killed, military vehicles must be saved, and the end justifies the means. At stake is a ruthless and inexorable history book that already sums up his reign.
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