Eighty-nine apartment, fifth floor. On his way home, somewhere between the 24-hour store called "The Elk" and the "Milana" hair salon, Ignat spotted a playing card with the queen of clubs lying alone on the pavement. Now he can only think about that loose black shirt with a bold deck-of-cards pattern that his mother’s friend, Uncle Slava, used to wear. All Ignat remembers about him: the gleaming gold tooth, the habit of rubbing his neck with his palm, a trip together to the lake in a beige Lada, when he felt an extra more than ever). And also, the fact that one crisp January morning in 1997, Uncle Slava was met by three gunshots as he was leaving the apartment building. But most of all, Ignat remembers that card-patterned shirt. It’s forever etched in his memory, just like the first time he heard Undervann's mix for 5/8: radio — a lone tear of happiness slid down his cheek, and his feet couldn’t help but start to dance