the monkey wasn’t happy camper, sadly. the city was too cold for him, he was constantly coughing like a chain smoker. he was also sort of political protester – once in a while, he would get off the leash, run toward the square in front of the central committee of the communist party, sit in the middle, and furiously masturbate.
since by that time everybody hated communists, but was still too afraid to do anything about it, the crowd aired their frustration by loudly cheering the fellow dissident primate. and when the uniformed authorities would show up to restore the order, the crowd would boo, while the monkey, while continuing masturbating on the run, would fling poo at the red faced officers.
some of the poo would stick to the nearby statue of lenin. while pigeon poop on lenin nose was accepted by communists as unavoidable evil, monkey poo was too offensive, and the authorities would send the janitor to clean it. the janitor, bless his soil, was deeply proletarian, permanently drunk, and slightly retarded; he cursed monkeys, communists, and spectators in words so colorful and imaginative that even the captain would slow down to listen, and sometimes appreciatively nodded, puffing his pipe. nobody knows russian this way anymore, but the various sexual acts between lenin, his mother, monkey, secretaty of the communist party, and historic cannon were only the starter.
of course, as a little boy, I understood none of it all. I was content to sit next to my knitting grandma, take photos of the monkey with her TLR camera, and listen to the sounds of little seaside orchestra, drifting away in the dwindling light of summer evening.