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Kuyda moved Luka from Moscow to San Francisco in 2015. When Stampsy faltered, Mazurenko moved into a tiny alcove in Kuyda’s apartment to save money.

Mazurenko had been the consummate bon vivant in Moscow, but running a startup had worn him down, and he was prone to periods of melancholy.

The dream of a more open Russia seemed to evaporate.

Both became entrepreneurs, and served as each other’s chief adviser as they built their companies.

Kuyda co-founded Luka, an artificial intelligence startup, and Mazurenko launched Stampsy, a tool for building digital magazines.

“He was so forward-thinking and charismatic,” said Poydo, who later moved to the United States to work with him.

Mazurenko became a founding figure in the modern Moscow nightlife scene, where he promoted an alternative to what Russians sardonically referred to as “Putin’s glamor” — exclusive parties where oligarchs ordered bottle service and were chauffeured home in Rolls-Royces.

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hen the engineers had at last finished their work, Eugenia Kuyda opened a console on her laptop and began to type. “This is your digital monument.” It had been three months since Roman Mazurenko, Kuyda’s closest friend, had died.

On the days he felt depressed, Kuyda took him out for surfing and

hen the engineers had at last finished their work, Eugenia Kuyda opened a console on her laptop and began to type. “This is your digital monument.” It had been three months since Roman Mazurenko, Kuyda’s closest friend, had died.On the days he felt depressed, Kuyda took him out for surfing and $1 oysters.“It was like a flamingo living in the house,” she said recently, sitting in the kitchen of the apartment she shared with Mazurenko. But it doesn’t really fit anywhere.” Kuyda hoped that in time her friend would reinvent himself, just as he always had before.Kuyda had spent that time gathering up his old text messages, setting aside the ones that felt too personal, and feeding the rest into a neural network built by developers at her artificial intelligence startup.She had struggled with whether she was doing the right thing by bringing him back this way. But ever since Mazurenko’s death, Kuyda had wanted one more chance to speak with him. “You have one of the most interesting puzzles in the world in your hands,” it said. orn in Belarus in 1981, Roman Mazurenko was the only child of Sergei, an engineer, and Victoria, a landscape architect.It was unseasonably warm, so afterward he decided to explore the city with Ustinov. Making their way down the sidewalk, they ran into some construction, and were forced to cross the street.

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hen the engineers had at last finished their work, Eugenia Kuyda opened a console on her laptop and began to type. “This is your digital monument.” It had been three months since Roman Mazurenko, Kuyda’s closest friend, had died.

On the days he felt depressed, Kuyda took him out for surfing and $1 oysters.

“It was like a flamingo living in the house,” she said recently, sitting in the kitchen of the apartment she shared with Mazurenko. But it doesn’t really fit anywhere.” Kuyda hoped that in time her friend would reinvent himself, just as he always had before.

Kuyda had spent that time gathering up his old text messages, setting aside the ones that felt too personal, and feeding the rest into a neural network built by developers at her artificial intelligence startup.

She had struggled with whether she was doing the right thing by bringing him back this way. But ever since Mazurenko’s death, Kuyda had wanted one more chance to speak with him. “You have one of the most interesting puzzles in the world in your hands,” it said. orn in Belarus in 1981, Roman Mazurenko was the only child of Sergei, an engineer, and Victoria, a landscape architect.

It was unseasonably warm, so afterward he decided to explore the city with Ustinov. Making their way down the sidewalk, they ran into some construction, and were forced to cross the street.

||

hen the engineers had at last finished their work, Eugenia Kuyda opened a console on her laptop and began to type. “This is your digital monument.” It had been three months since Roman Mazurenko, Kuyda’s closest friend, had died.

On the days he felt depressed, Kuyda took him out for surfing and $1 oysters.

“It was like a flamingo living in the house,” she said recently, sitting in the kitchen of the apartment she shared with Mazurenko. But it doesn’t really fit anywhere.” Kuyda hoped that in time her friend would reinvent himself, just as he always had before.

Kuyda had spent that time gathering up his old text messages, setting aside the ones that felt too personal, and feeding the rest into a neural network built by developers at her artificial intelligence startup.

oysters.

“It was like a flamingo living in the house,” she said recently, sitting in the kitchen of the apartment she shared with Mazurenko. But it doesn’t really fit anywhere.” Kuyda hoped that in time her friend would reinvent himself, just as he always had before.

Kuyda had spent that time gathering up his old text messages, setting aside the ones that felt too personal, and feeding the rest into a neural network built by developers at her artificial intelligence startup.

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