Poltava

I remember drinking in a bar in Poltava with an English-speaking acquaintance. It was quite a noisy place. One of those places where you had to pay close attention to hear what your companion was saying to you. Anyway, right out of the blue some monstrous and drunk man smashes his beer glass into a hundred pieces on our table and screams at the top of his lungs in Russian: I hate you *?!$#* Americans!!