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23 мая 2017 г., 22:19
For years, we’d drive an... «You're Never Weird on the Internet (Almost): A Memoir»
For years, we’d drive an hour and a half to New Orleans so I could train with a huge, had-to-be-related-to-a-bear man named Viktor. He was from the “A touch of abuse very good!” school of Soviet training. He would hit me on the arm when I played off-key. With an actual stick. My theory? It was the whittled-down arm bone of a former student.
