by the age of sixteen, already at the top of the skating world,
white skates leave trails of patterns , ice flakes splattering
around in their wake, numerous golden medals ∂єcσяαтιηg the
small flat in st. petersburg — the lonely flat that’s only occupied
few months a year, a flurry of brown fur welcoming him, sharing
his bed. he spends most of his time in airports, unfamiliar hotel
rooms on season, in various rinks, filled with foreign faces. the
team he travels is the only thing close to a family, hisrivalsturning
into friends — easy smiles, meeting up once a year, they’re used
to it. rink back in росси́я more of a home to him than the unrestful
house on the country side, skating is always a way out for him,
much more than a sport he spends his time with, or earnsmoney.
it has become who he is and he proves it to the world everyday.
