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Club Review November 17, 2006
Krisha Canít Get Any Higher
By Hannah Katz Browse author

So I've been hanging out more and more with my girlfriend Tanya and her Russian crew...

You know, her friends are making me rethink my opinion about the upper echelon of the Russian youth crowd. Now from one point of view, these kids are nothing more than just the Russian equivalent of yuppies. Obsessed with real estate, cool gadgets, the latest Audi hatchback, or whatever. But there's something different about them, they're just not as dull as American yuppies...

Anyway, last Friday night we were just hanging out at Tanya's friend's apartment, drinking whisky and playing a Russian version of charades. We were planning on making a circuit of some strip bars later that night, when Tanya's ex-boyfriend Denis called.

Her and Denis used to fuck on and off, but lately Tanya had been shunning him for his friend -- a much finer and younger exec a Phillip Morris. Her and Denis hadn't talked in weeks, ever since he found out that she had been banging his friend for the past few months, but now he called and invited her to KRISHA, a super pafosny club that I've never heard of. Don't confuse this KRISHA with the lame ass KRISHA club on top of the R&B club. This KRISHA is so elite, that you won't find it in Afisha or Time Out. They don't do that. They're too cool for that.

I tried to find the address for this place to put into my review, but no one knew it. It's not like it'll make a difference that I don't put it here. Because basically, to get in, you either have to know someone that is already inside or know a secret pass phrase that changes everyday that only the "in" crowd knows about. Denis passed Tanya the phrase and told us he'd meet us inside just after midnight.

We ditched the dozen other people at the apartment, and headed over to the club. There was no way we would all pass feis control if all of us went, secret pass or not.

KRISHA is in a good spot, right on the naberezhnaya near Hotel Ukraine, but don't expect to find it, cuz the club doesn't even so much as a have a sign. You'll know that you're there when you spot a half-dozen okhraniki standing on an industrial staircase leading up to an unmarked warehouse above the road.

We undid our coats as we approached feis control to show some cleavage and thigh action. There was no line, there were no cars on the street. It seemed like were the only people who wanted to get in.

"What do you want," the main guy said.

"We want to go inside," Tanya answered.

"What is the password," he replied, eyeing us suspiciously.

"Pasha," Tanya said and started to move forward. But something went wrong. He blocked her way. "No! You're not getting in tonigh with last night's passwor," he said.

Tanya and I went back to her friend's apartments and didn't tell a single person about what happened to us. It was obvious that Denis was just getting square with Tanya. Fucking asshole. But hey, blowing a month's salary and feeling up on hot Russian strippers at Babalone was much more interesting...

Naberezhnaya near Hotel Ukraina

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The future of The eXile is in your hands! We're holding a fundraiser to save the paper, and your soul. Tune in to Gary Brecher's urgent request for reinforcements and donate as much as you can. If you don't, we'll be overrun and wiped off the face of the earth, forever.

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