The escalator strained slowly upward. In an old station like this, what else would you expect? But the wind swirled like a wild thing inside the concrete pipe - ruffling his hair, tugging the hood off his head, sneaking in under his scarf, pressing him downward. The wind didn't want Egor to go up. The wind was pushing him back. Strange but no-one else seemed to notice the wind. There was hardly anyone around - it was midnight and the station was already emptying. ... Egor stuck is hands in his pockets and turned to look back. For a couple of minutes already, from the moment he stepped off the train, he'd had the feeling he was being watched. It wasn't a frightening kind of feeling at all, it felt interesting, a sudden, pricking sensation.