About the book: 2018 / The first time I thought it was time for me to give up was an early August morning in one thousand nine hundred and eighty-five. The summer was not warm and gentle like Leningrad. The sun had just peeked out into the narrow gap between the neighboring nine-story buildings and had not yet completely dispersed the rare night fog that clung to the stunted trees that surrounded the freshly painted swings and slide on the playground in a chain. I stood with my forehead pressed against the cold glass of the kitchen window, looked down from the fourth floor and thought it was time. Now it's definitely time.