Once lived in an apartment house, there we have a man of an indefinite age with the underground name "Tarakan" (because he is sick).



It always arises suddenly and inevitably, as soon as the vanity begins (no matter on what occasion - a movie is filmed or an assembly of tenants, or an agitation for a member of the parliament) and some grandmother on the saucer pushes her spark "ah how do you get it done with us".

A terrible shadow from behind the back shows the fist of Tarakan first, then some part of it, and then a chilling laughing voice reports that the grandmother is pissing and .



Only new, inexperienced grandmothers who are not yet familiar with his capabilities enter the mess with Tarakan. It is impossible to overtake Tarakan - he is like a Gorec, cut off all the swallowing butterflies in the district in 50 years, gained their strength, and can laugh for hours without tiredness. He speaks quickly and it is unclear why this talk looks like a Predator's conversation with a Stranger.



And how he’s chatting with representatives of the ZKH – it’s just a look! Wet, sweaty, red representatives of bullets flew out of the entrances. The turtle of the march has more quantum properties and can arise in any entrance, in any houses relating to the local washing which is one (large) on 3 houses, so woe to the ZKHnjik who falls into his legs. It not only touches sanitary technicians, but sucks their brains with advice on how to do it best.



And Tarakan also loves to do repairs. I lived on a permanent basis for 12 years in this house (now the apartment is there, but I rarely appear there), the repair at Tarakan never ends. He constantly pulls something in bags, carries in bags, imports some boards, bricks, cement, foam, glands, etc.



I begin to suspect that it is not a man at all, but a reptile, and under the cover of repairs in the apartment he is building a spacecraft to fly away after destroying all humans (like in the series Alien from space, yes).