A small, shabby shop in the centre of Donetsk. There are practically no customers. I am greeted by the owner of the shop Petro, a smart phlegmatic middle-aged man.
“We are working more as security guards here,” he says almost in a whisper, even though there is nobody there to eavesdrop. “Recently, I have been coming here every day myself, to prevent anything from happening. They are not messing with us yet, what is the point? However, there is no point to mess with others either, but they still do it…”