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I was tired.
It was late.
I was an American in St.Petersburg,

breathing air so cold it
froze my eyelashes.

Nadia, the bartender,
poured me a tall glass of vodka
that burned my throat, but warmed my chest.

Late, she shared her callused hands and
soft hips
then sang me to sleep

I didn't expect the handcuffs

It was late.
She was Russian.