My Generation
The day is hectic. I am trying to put things together before departure. Recently a news came that my close friend Andrey Yegorov is apprehended in Moscow with drugs. I should start collecting money for his advocate. Yesterday I learned that another writer, Arkady Babchenko, was shot in Kiev; today he's alive and says he had to do it to escape the Russian secret services' plot to murder him. While he's alive and I'm glad, it is a destruction of his reputation as a credible source of any information, and he undermined the struggle of others or so it feels like. I'm going to read Coates on a plane and write you long letters, as I promised. But Yegorov, Yegorov upsets me immensely. Our friendship broke up because of the fight over feminism, as usual, but now I passed a message of support to him, of course, and he returns such a joyous missive (through someone who has access to him). It is all so sad, and I feel like best people are getting screwed.
