Отрывок из статьи "Meet The Gopniks: An Exile Safari":
After several hours of roaming around Lubertsky, we finally decided to give up. If there were no gopniki here, where the fuck would we find them?
That's when we settled on one of the gnarliest regions in Moscow, "Brateevo," a district whose very name is synonymous with gopnik. Brateevo is one of those outlying districts whose every square inch of land seems packed with 17-story white paneli, huge awful buildings made from faded white concrete slabs. As you approach Brateevo from the MKAD, there are so many of these paneli packed in so tightly and haphazardly that you can't imagine there's room to walk between them, that sunlight is blocked, all vegetation stunted.
But alas, looks can be deceiving. Once again, after arming ourselves with beer and heading into the shit, we found ourselves face-to-face with something far worse than teams of squatting gopniki: we found ourselves amidst a sea of totally gopnik-free humanity. Once again, families, baby carriages, nice cars, kids sporting the new pop-indy look, cute girls walking their dogs. In fact, Brateevo had gone so cosmopolitan that even our intentionally loud English speaking, designed to draw attention, didn't so much as warrant a glance. Even stray dogs ignored us.
There was only one place left to look: a local billiard hall. If the gopniki were anywhere, even a lone gopnik or two, they'd be here.
And, well, you can guess what we didn't find there.
