Yesterday evening I stood in the kitchen, baking a potato, and unexpectedly opening the lid I stuck to the pot standing next to it. Because the cover of the times of the USSR, large and iron, it issued a lengthy gong and I automatically issued to the whole apartment "Alexander Druz will be answered", and there is a wild rust from the street, and a scream "You are good." To say that I wore nothing to say, the 11th floor is still. A neighbor smoked in the window.