The first builds of the boom imitated whatever the post-Soviets had seen abroad and most desired: Turkish hotels, German castles, Swiss chalets. Whole swathes of town are demolished in fits of self-destruction, wastelands abandoned for years and for no apparent reason, skyscrapers erupting before there are any roads leading to them and then left standing empty in the dirty snow. You look for a place where you went to eat a week ago, and before your eyes the whole block is being demolished. The city changes so fast you lose all sense of reality, you can’t recognize streets. The demolition ball keeps the time of the city, a metronome that swings on every corner.
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