From Rebecca Martin in McSweeney’s:
Fifty meters underground, in the shadows of Marxistskaya metro station, the police are picking out everyone with dark skin. In front of me, a tiny woman in slacks and a crisp jean jacket is yanked out. Her eyes roll up in confusion at a militsioner in a platter-sized cap.
We pale-skinned folk whisk onto the escalator, up to the light.
What has this little woman done? Perhaps she is one of the estimated 3 million unregistered workers flooding the city to eke out a living from the oil trickle-down. Perhaps her internal passport—one must carry it at all times—is not stamped “Moscow resident” and she can’t afford the bribe.
