A reddish spotted hyena lounges naked in a solid teak beach chair, paw carved by himself, polished by years of use. The warm, polished wood contrasts with the bristly fur on the hyena, though it is beginning to sheen with sweat in the noon heat. Despite the heat and sun, the hyena is lounging without an umbrella, smoking a fine cigar at his leisure. The smoke hangs furtively above him until a light breeze comes to sweep it away, bringing the perfumed scent of cigar to somefur down the beach. A bottle of fine potato vodka is plunked into the sand on the left side of the chair, cork loosely in place, so as to aid in the drinking of the fine alcohol. The Hyena's arms are gently resting on his chest and neck, his legs sprawled out comfortably, his eyes half closed, watching all the girls walk by. A pair of military style goggles hangs on the chair, glinting in the bright sunlight.

The peaceful calm of the moment seems unbreakable, a peaceful respite from Vladimir Vanetsiv's life of running from the state for his fight for freedom.