— I really broke his arm?
— No. Just dislocated it.
— And that guy who was screaming? Who's he?
— The director.
— And what was that song?
— "Wings" - by Nautilus.
— What's your name?
— What are you, a Jew?
— I'm German.
— Oh... I'm not wild about Jews.
— And Germans?
— Germans? They're okay.
— What's the difference?
— Why are you badgering me about it?
— Pay the fine.
— Brother, don't kill me, brother. The money... take it all, take it... Listen, don't kill me, brother. Here.
— You're not my brother, you blackassed worm.
— Your Walkman's fine, but you're dressed like a pig. You got any acid? Or dough? Got any dough?
— Mom wrote that you were in the war?
— I sat things out at HQ. I was a clerk.
— Can you shoot?
— Yeah, they took us out to the shooting range.
— You're a smart man, German. Tell me, what do we live for?
— Well, everyone decides himself. There's this saying, "what's good for the Russian is death for the German". Well, I live to disprove this.
— You did a fine job, brother. You saved my ass and helped people. Now only Russians will sell there.
— And Germans?
— What do you mean by "Germans"??
— Will there be Germans?
— What kind of Germans?
— You know, Germans.
— Why Germans?
It's the Nautilus anniversary concert. A rare find. I got it. There's Shevchuk, Kinchev, Nastyam, everybody.
Those assholes, they slipped me a pirated copy.
— What are they singing about?
— What the hell do you care?! They sing great.
— I don't like it.
— He gets off on Nautilus, the dickhead.