By Irina Tkachenko, free-lance producer
We don't trust the air we cannot see or chew.
The line familiar to Los Angelenos decades ago came to mind as I woke up on Wednesday night in my Moscow apartment, heavy-headed and yearning for a breath of fresh air, and looked out the wide-open window. The street below was bathed in a milky substance, diffusing light from lamps and completely obscuring the buildings across. Cars -- I knew they were cars, though all I saw were blurry bright dots in the milk -- were crawling along the highway not two hundred yards away. Smog?
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