Oh, Moscow

For most of the summer, this charming little town has been full of wholesome families with little kids.  (And a random smattering of people I can most politely refer to as "characters."  This town is full of "characters.")  I am kind of looking forward to the influx of the 18-22 year old demographic so I don't feel quite so out of place, like I'm in that limbo between being 13 and eating candy for dinner and being a really real adult who goes to work and has children.  (By that I mean someone who goes to work and who also has children, not someone who gives birth at work because they are so dedicated to their job.  This isn't China.)  I'm starting to see some half-dressed skanks and broheems milling around the frat houses on our street, so relief can't be far away. 

Aside from the presence of people themselves, there are other visible reminders that the innocent children with their mouths stained red from Kool-Aid and popsicles are being displaced by jaded 20-somethings with their mouths stained red from too much Carlo (the Kool-Aid of discriminating adults).  Last night on our customary walk, we cut through Friendship Square and caught sight of some happy pastel-colored chalk drawings on the ground near the fountain.  Amid the standard rainbows and BFF proclamations, I found these two decidedly unchildlike gems:

I thought it just caused autism?  Then again, I remember how angry I was when I learned I would never have polio or measles, so you know, I guess they could be on to something.

Also, I spotted this last week, but it was still up yesterday, so it must be an ongoing thing.  Moscow (and Jane Austen) are much kinkier than I ever would have dreamed.

I hope you can read that marquee through the sun glare.