Ninety-third year, summer, the heat is terrible. I lived in Undead then. And on Dmitrovka on the road to the center, there is a clever turn to B. Academic Street. He is right on the lighthouse, so there periodically hanged the sign "right cannot" and exhibited the collector in the pursuit. I got into that. I go, I don’t touch anyone, and, turning, I fix this sign with the edge of my eyes, with the thought “Yesterday was not...” I stumble on the stick, I stop, worrying about myself. And I see that such poor guys like me are five cars in a row for disassembly. I wait. The collector is not in a hurry, hot, lazy, sweaty... Flying out because of the twist of the nine with tinted glasses, also stumbling on the stick. From there comes out a cheerful brother in shorts and shorts, hanged with cheeks, bracelets, etc. Evaluate the situation for half a minute. The dialogue follows (as I have heard, so I write). Brother (with the voice of a complete fool):
I am a missionary!
He turns around:
What is?
Do you have it? – Mosquito.
The people were concerned, mindlessly warned:
– No...
My brother is even more stupid:
And the race? ... The ration?
Mint is confused:
– No...
Brother calmly and measurably:
If not, you would go to X@Y, Makaka with a stick! He splashed through his teeth, sat down and left.
There is no scene.
Mint (slightly coming in and through the teeth):
Meaning so is. Ten seconds and everything disappeared.
We did not wait for the second invitation.