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In the eyes of history, there is no longer a quiet dawn in Moscow.
As soon as the sun rises, the crowded outer ring road becomes a stagnant water, and drivers annoyed by traffic diseases in big cities honk their horns crazily and make annoying noises. Some people are used to all this, and there is a newspaper on the steering wheel, waiting quietly.
Occasionally, one or two young people pass by the traffic while drinking with bottles in their hands. I don't know who opened the window, but a Russian pop song inadvertently dropped into the traffic.
Noisy airports and undulating planes shuttle between urban roads. In the supermarket, the goods on the shelves are dazzling, and people are constantly coming to buy them. In the magnificent subway station, passengers in a hurry wander side by side from one strange face to another.
The Red Square in Moscow, packed with tourists, is still shining except for the five stars made of dazzling Kremlin rubies. The most striking thing is the resplendent Orthodox Church. The famous Arbat Street is full of hawkers' cries, and the goods on the stalls exude an uncoordinated combination of tradition and reality, war and peace. Pushkin's statue is hidden on the side of the road, unnoticed and preserved in the lost history. ...