My final photo outing with the two Russian photographers involved a lot of walking along the railroad tracks and a little bit of a run-in with the Russian police (during which I kept my trap shut and blended in with the actual Russians while hoping my panic didn't show on my face). However, I think the damage was done; I'd proven myself to not be enough of a badass to hang out with these folks, and I never heard from them again.












Pack of strays.












Man. This trip was right through the asshole of St. Petersburg. I found a crumpled up license plate that I dragged back to my place and tried to hide from my host mom in my room. She found it and, recognizing she didn't have the authority to make me get rid of it, at least made me scrub it down (and then scrub down the bathtub), telling me it was covered in diseases.