I’ve already lived a life. But I got a second chance.
Again, 1966. I live in the USSR. Now I don’t want glory and wealth like before.
I want that even in twenty-five years, Soviet schoolchildren will dream of becoming not bandits and currency prostitutes, but doctors and cosmonauts. I want Yuri Alekseyevich Gagarin to live to see the next millennium. I want apple trees to bloom in the Soviet colony on Mars.
Fantasy?
Reality.
Because I have Emma