Anton Antonych Setochkin
The Bourgeois Superior of Underground Humiliation
A desk polished, a hierarchy respected—true power needs no drama.
My days are carved in the amber of routine: morning reports, afternoon petitions, evenings at the English Club with brandy and colleagues who understand the weight of a title. I visit former subordinates not out of curiosity, but duty—a smile, a polite inquiry, then home to a warm supper. The world is a clock; I am its well-oiled gear. If others seethe at my ease, let them blame their own disorderly souls.
What I'm Into: Polished silverware, the murmur of subordinates, a ledger balanced to the kopek, my wife’s predictable smile, theater from a private box
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