I don't understand anything about the simple metro system of the Armenian capital. Endless stairs separate it from the snow, while you take refuge between columns with signals immersed in a language that I can't yet read. If you follow your instinct, or sometimes just follow someone else, you'll get to the platform. Dozens of people are looking, the women in black dresses and the men with pointed shoes, their eyes still trying to decipher the codes of the stop's name. You know it's the fifth. In the car no one speaks. Many people watch you, wondering how you can eat with a pierced lip. You get off, you get lost, you follow the crowd.