With Landlord, I met at Birshtab, a favorite, local beer bar of the capital, a tall and stocky cycling athlete of my father's age, a lover of Puma and sharp wings. He fascinates by the fact that he can easily tell historical and sacred facts about any street or architecture in Kiev. Once in his lair, I found myself in a place where there certainly can't be two masters. A marmalade-lemon armchair, above which towered a photo canvas of Motherland, stood in a jungle of houseplants. In the bright room was a lacquered table and a pouffe, worn along the edges, to support feet in sizes 43-45. I imagined that in this abode, he was watching clips of Kiev taken by his drone. This aerial probe, like an airborne stalker, flies him through the most faithful streets of Kiev, uncovering new archives of stories from his memory.