I sit in my office and I don’t touch anyone. The door is opened, a guy with a notepad and a broken bouquet of roses rolls in, swirls with a notepad and asks:
Are you Svetlana?
by Ophigete! I am really Svetlana! I’m the only one on the floor, I know. I start to get up, shining, like after the atomic explosion, the pipe has already pulled, thinking what kind of husband is a pipe. And here is the guy, scratching again with the notebook:
What floor is this? The sixth?
P... C, comrades!