In communist Russia, Free acts exactly the same
[Free wakes up in a strange place, again. The woman is still strange, but not a stranger. The room is very different, though.]
Huh...
[He gets up and wanders into the kitchen. A hammer and sickle flag hangs next to the door, and a few key pages of the manifesto are tacked to the walls. The pantry has a few lonely cans of beets in them. The Fridge has nothing but a half empty bottle of vodka in it.]
Huh.
[He walks out the front door and down the stairs from their fourth floor apartment to see a dark, dirty street under an endless, oppressively gray sky while hurried people walk briskly along, occasionally throwing nervous glances over their shoulders.]
This is new.
Huh...
[He gets up and wanders into the kitchen. A hammer and sickle flag hangs next to the door, and a few key pages of the manifesto are tacked to the walls. The pantry has a few lonely cans of beets in them. The Fridge has nothing but a half empty bottle of vodka in it.]
Huh.
[He walks out the front door and down the stairs from their fourth floor apartment to see a dark, dirty street under an endless, oppressively gray sky while hurried people walk briskly along, occasionally throwing nervous glances over their shoulders.]
This is new.