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[Alexandr Korol]

– So how much do people usually charge for consultations? Well, here, take three thousand rubles.

And even though he was more like an acquaintance of acquaintances, people would still tell me: “Don’t turn down Alex the ‘Businessman.’ If he wants a consultation, you should do it. You’ll help him. Why not?” And I’d say, “I don’t want to take money; I’m fine doing it for free.” And they’d say, “No, that’s not right either.” I remember there was a whole period where everyone kept scolding me for being afraid of money — but that’s another story. Anyway, Alexander the “Businessman” introduced me to a lot of people, and he actually played one of the most significant roles in my life. It’s a pity that the system somehow pulled him away, disappeared him. I even tried a few times to get back in touch with him, but he says he’s busy. So, back then he told me about some Mystic-Old-Man who could also “sit in the “cosmos”” and answer questions. I told Alexander the “Businessman”: “Wow, I’ve been searching for someone who can see or know something, maybe he can help me figure out who I am. Please, book a session for me.” And so Alexander the “Businessman” and I — this was probably around 2009 or 2010, I can’t say exactly — went for a consultation in person. It was on Krasnoarmeyskaya Street... or maybe Malodetskoselsky, somewhere around the Tekhnologichesky Institut metro station. There was this building from the 1800s, super old, basically condemned, damp, rotting, with no lighting in the entrance hall. We go into this stairwell — it’s dark, gloomy, spooky. We climb the stairs almost to the very top, and suddenly — people. A whole crowd is standing there. You know, as usual. I had been to similar sessions several times before when my mom took me as a child, and it was always the same — some women, usually older women, grumpy, strange, the kind who’d be ready to fight in line. And here was a whole crowd of them again. As soon as we arrived, they snapped at us: “Where do you think you’re going? Get in line!” — with that kind of attitude. So we waited. Eventually, our turn came, and an old door creaked open. A grandma of some sort opened it — I don’t know, maybe she was the Mystic- Old-Man’s mother, maybe a relative, maybe not related at all. But she was this old little granny, in a headscarf, saying: “Who’s next? Come in.” She opened this massive door — ten times her size — and we walked through. I entered some room or hall and sat down at the table in front of this Mystic-Old-Man.