A small tumult erupted on Mayakovsky Square the other day as a crowd of Russians pressed in around a gangly, white-haired man from Texas.
At issue was love. Tremulous, tearful love, the kind of love that could compel you to embroider bedroom slippers and tea cozies and thrust them at your love object as he climbs into his car, along with bunches of daisies and a single, perfectly ripe pear. Read More.
