Alexandr Konstantinovich pushed open the door wearily, he lived in the slums, a place exuding stench and chaos.
With his unkempt beard, one couldn't tell he was a 21-year-old man.
Just as he had arrived home, three little girls rushed over to him—they all looked very young and emaciated due to malnutrition, with sparse hair.
"Big brother, big sister hit me today."
"Big brother, big brother, are you tired?"
"Big brother, I'm hungry."
The children clamored, Konstantinovich patted their heads, "I'll get you something to eat, you guys watch TV first."
His smile was bitter as he turned on the TV for the children and walked into the kitchen.
By his name, one could tell he was not purely Mexican; his father was Soviet. Back then his family was doing well with a farm in the countryside, but because the drug cartel wanted to cultivate DM, they demanded his parents sell at a ridiculously low price.
