Culturally distant from reality

Как-то вяло, said Sabrina, looking down on her New Year’s present. A thick pair of jeans. Frustration wouldn’t begin to describe it: she hadn’t showered for days because the water in the building had been turned off — turns out pipes do freeze and her nails, oh, her nails… A disaster. Not something a woman like — her — should be showing around. You see, Sabrina met Georgiy, which now went by George in the United States, while serial visiting museums, theaters and boutiques in Moscow, she would eat cans of caviar without thinking of tomorrow — ведь девушка так должна жить, пуская Георгий придумает откуда икры еще взять. This, in her head, was the real her. And George’s American pay check took her Her away from her... Every. Month. He’s the man, she thought, why, in her artistic mind, was she now forced to work, to simply make rent and edibles? Why on Earth? To work at the groceries 30 minutes away by bus. In thirty minutes she’d Moscow’s center! But here she was leaving from nowhere going to exactly no heaven on Earth: work! She had moved to the United States with George because the posters told her she would have that Hollywood smile as soon as her passport got stamped. It turned out that every tooth costed, in the real outside-poster world, 200 dollars. 200 dollars! Her мелирование was out of date and needed renewal. Sabrina was not herself. Sabrina was not a woman. And George… George was far from being a man. Как-то вяло.