When I was four years old, there were a lot of guests coming to us for the New Year, and there was one such uncle — say, Uncle Cole, — who often went out to smoke on the venue. When Uncle Cole went to smoke again, Santa came to visit us suddenly. I told him a poem, and my mind called Uncle Cole, who will miss it all right away. But Santa gave me a beautiful toothbrush with a snowflake and left, and then Uncle Cole returned. I stumbled on him with desperate screams from the series: so long!!! And for many years she remembered and regretted that Uncle Cole’s smoker never found Santa Claus. I recently found out that something was wrong, shit.