Apartment 21, fifth floor. Gleb is washing a plate with a neat yellow rim. A barely visible steam rises beautifully from the hot water. The foam pleasantly runs down into the sink. For some reason, at that very moment, while looking at the steam, the foam, the shiny tiles of the kitchen backsplash, and his slouched reflection in the window, he suddenly remembered a story so old, it felt like it happened in a past life. A scorching day in Budapest, he ordered an espresso tonic at a café. Around him were bare concrete walls, pots with ficus plants, and posters in an unfamiliar language. The smiling cashier in a coral-colored t-shirt handed him a change. With a cute Eastern European accent, she complimented his recent tattoo of Pierrot's head in a cap. Oh God, how embarrassed he was! He couldn’t think of anything better to say than something like, “Well, you’ve got a great tattoos too”… except she didn’t have any. At least none that he could see. An awkward pause. He quickly forced a smile, took the change (a couple of coins, of course, fell loudly to the floor, so he had to spend time picking them up), waited for his drink, and dashed out into the July heat without looking back, trying to forget the embarrassing incident. Suddenly, Gleb felt just as awkward as if that scene had just happened now, right there in his kitchen. Poor boy, if only he knew there is a perfect remedy to quickly distract from embarrassing memories (and everything else), and that is the Solid Angle mix for 5/8: radio.