This little guy grabbed on to my leg and wouldn't let go until I gave him a coin. "Please! Please!" he cried. Gypsy children are often beaten if they don't bring in their minimum for the day. A few minutes after I gave him a bit of money, he was doing somersaults with the other children. The pitiful look is practiced, but the coldness of his eyes betrays a hard life.           These two boys lived near my office, and I would talk with them on their way to and from school. My level of Russian proficiency was perfect for dialog with 10-year-olds. This day I found them buying their lunch (a single chunk of bread) from the nearby bakery. We mugged for the camera while his partner snapped the shot.                 A young Russian proudly wears the hand-made hat I delivered on behalf of two American boys who sent it as a gift for "some kid in Moscow." The brim says "Hulk Rules" in carefully-lettered nail polish. The grim-looking papa squeezes out a Russian folk tune for his talented little charmers on the Moscow Arbat. I dropped some bills in for dad, the girls sparkled a bit when they saw me toss in a few toys for them.                   Detski Mir, which translates to Children's World. An ironic metaphor for the Moscow children's world: empty, grim, superficial cheer with meager pickings. The toy store is located right across from the KGB's Lubyanka offices and prison. Back to Album Menu