'Zorya Utrennyaya found an empty ashtray and placed it beside Czernobog. "How you want your coffee?" she asked her guest. "here we take it black as night, sweet as sin."'
'They were holding hands tightly, as if simply holding hands could keep the world at bay (...)'
It was a dream, and in dreams you have no choices: either there are no decisions to be made, or they were made long before ever the dream began.