a russian debutante

The woman put a napkin into her book and closed it. "Where you from, Trotsky?" she said.
"I am Vladimir," said Vladimir in a tone that made him want to add, "and I journey far and wide on behalf of Mother Russia." He restrained himself.
"A Russian Jew," the observant woman said. "What do you drink?"
"Nothing anymore. I'm all drunk and broke."
"And you miss your country", said the woman, trying to match his sadness. "Two whiskey sours," she said to a passing waitress.
"You are so kind," Vladimir said. "You must be from anothher place. You go to NYU and hail from Cedar Rapids? Your parents work the land. You have three dogs."
"Columbia," the woman corrected him. "Manhattanite by birth, and my parents are professors at City. One cat."
"What can be better?" Vladimir said. "If you like Chekhov and social democracy, we can be friends."


Gary Shteyngart, The Russian Debutante's Handbook

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