At the end of the road lies a track, the very last, a track swamped with the mud of a Siberian autumn, and at the end of this track lies a vast, dark forest which secretes those who have made this their final refuge, in hamlets that fray a little more with every passing day, sapped by misery and alcohol. We have to travel as far as we can, and be prepared to fall into the ditch, to see what makes us human.

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