[Thanks to his detour, it takes Sanya longer than he thought before he finds the ladies seated outside the door. He takes his time on approach, his hands in his coat pockets. Another bottle of vodka is poking out of his pocket. His expression is uncharacteristically serious, but his tone sounds a little light.]

I come prepared for sadness, and find instead a pair of krasivye zhenshchiny... Maybe I have the wrong floor.

[He approaches them then, and stops in front of them.]

We also think alike, I see. Vodka is universal painkiller, must be.