In the creatively stifling era of the soviet empire, architects exercised their imagination across the land in the one place they could: bus stops. Each one is unique, and doubles as a signature for the architect. Many of them are theatrical in quality, as though each man and woman waiting for a bus is merely a player in the stage of life, pausing between scenes. Others appear like beautiful picture frames, elevating the mundanity of waiting for a bus. Some of them seem to engage with the landscape, either in striking opposition or in harmonious response. Above all, each one appears like a porthole to another world.