It's almost funny how trite and standard the service is. Who picked this? Who approved this? Myself and most of the people in here have met Leonid Litvinov, and cliched eulogies about his "generosity" are outright laughable. I'd sooner have expected Satan himself to come conduct proceedings. Not this stooped, graying Russian Orthodox priest with a voice that barely rises above a dull mumble.
A slow, dull mumble, at that.
The service drags like a funeral dirge played at quarter-speed. The priest's voice rises and falls in waves of Russian I don't understand. The incense keeps burning. A pot too close to me spews smoke, making my nostrils sting and my eyes water.
Or maybe those are real tears. It's hard to tell anymore.
I shift on the hard, wooden pew for the thousandth time, trying to f
