The story happened to one of my acquaintances, we will call her Masha. In the days of the recent summit in Peter with Masha, a disaster happened - she was attacked by a drug addict right in the center of the city and took her mobile phone. True, the militia workers in the city in those days were almost no more than the inhabitants, so, having not had time to run and ten meters, the robber was bound by two dressed operas. Not having time to understand anything, Masha was immersed in the car and taken to the department to testify.

I have to say that Masha's profession is rare and interesting. She is a ballet artist. Naturally, the appearance of a sympathetic ballerina caused a lively interest in virtually all employees of the department, so the time between testimony and other investigative actions Masha spent, gently chatting with talented police officers. When all the necessary formalities were completed, the time was far beyond midnight. Masha’s new friends gently offered to take her home.

In the police nine without numbers with tinted glasses, five operas sat - two in the front, three in the back - and Masha pressed on the rear seat. They went.

And then Masha, assessing the situation - a toned nine, without numbers, with a clear excess of the number of passengers travelling around the city at night - asked the following question:

Are you not afraid that the mentions will stop us?

The car stopped. From the hood.

I’ve always been surprised by celebrities who suffer from alcoholism. You guys are not poor, mostly, could you not really come up with anything more interesting, drugs, for example? The joke. But the truth is strange: to write brilliant music or literature, to shoot stunning films or in movies - enough of the mind and fantasy, but the leisure to spend, except as the bottom of the bottle dive - it is not, it is not to think about. I have always considered drunkenness to be the fate of people trapped in routine. Working home work. The wife is stupid, the children are brainless. And I drank - and not so hopeless.

One day I was stuck in a village, far from civilization, almost under house arrest. There were books not very interesting, a cold winter forest, an old laptop, no internet, and enough money. To leave the house was recommended not further from the store, to go outside the village or to go into the network was not recommended at all, in order to avoid harm to health. The winter promised to be long.

Well, I thought: winter, village, Russian thirst – I’ll go and I’ll drink! I bought alcohol and stayed at home. The day I drink – fun, the second – also nothing. Third so for yourself. The fourth is not pleasant. At fifth in the morning I took the stop and realized it was boring. Sitting there was quite thirsty, and sitting and crawling - not only thirsty, but also incredibly dull. I put the bottles in the closet and went up. Not even sleeping. Health is enough, but willpower is not. My friend, the doctor came. The only person in the village I knew. He just helped me get there.

“Doctor,” I said, “help me! I can’t drink, I throw it away.

And the doctor, I have to say, had a huge experience in getting clients out of drinking. What to do, the area is like this. Here is the reverse problem. The doctor listened to me, shrugged my shoulders, and said that he could not help, unfortunately.

Do you like to drink? He asks.

Well, sometimes yes, in a good company or...

And by one?

The first day was fun, then it was crazy.

You see what your problem is: you are not an alcoholic, you are a drunkard.

What is the difference?

A drunk is funny when he is drunk, and an alcoholic is not funny when he is sober. You get bored drinking because you and the sober here in this world like it, well, in large. Alcoholics are not good here. He is willing to go to anything, drink anything, just to eat and forget. It is all escapism and an attempt to escape from reality. As I realized, this is not your joke.

That’s how I realized that I’t even get to sleep. You will have to look for yourself in something else.

The route stops. A guy comes out and immediately starts scanning the area. Very careful and tense. He is not alone, but with a girl. He remembers it and therefore, without looking, stretches out his hand. The yellow, the yellow. The partner was confused. A suitcase or clothes caught on something. The other girl did not wait and saw her hand on the way out. Oh well what? Why not? He gently puts his hand, and... the guy, having received a tactile signal, starts the movement, also looking carefully at the terrain, the girl's hand does not let go. I’m not afraid of you. – T.T. Do not be afraid. The Radio Day. Brochenka finally leaves the road and is surprised to find that the man, in the real sense of the word, is being taken out of his nose.

Instantly speeds up (Bolt rests) and...takes the guy for the other hand. It brakes sharply. Secret dreams come true at the wrong time. It goes quietly, without scandals. The couple goes their way, the girl his way. With thoughts “even a little, a teaspoon is already good.”

Yesterday afternoon, I leave the house and see a neighbor putting children’s saucers near the garbage containers. It seems to be whole, but a couple of wooden planks are missing on the seedle, but the frame is whole. Near the evening, some of the children did not get enough of the saucers, and they were taken out of the garbage. I go out in the evening to the store, I see again the same neighbor goes, "his" sandwiches again to the garbage.

I: Zadarova, what, decided to remember childhood, to ride saucers? (Born right behind the house)

Neighbor(s): No, this is an old daughter’s sandwich. I bought new ones today and throw them away.

I: So you’ve thrown them out already?

C is thrown. Our local Spanish picked up, and rides.

I: Well let them ride, you threw them out!? to

Q: What does it mean to “ride”? This is my daughter’s sandal!! to

And I suddenly presented a picture of a bombardment in a garbage container, and he said to him, "Don't eat this cluttered bottle, it's mine. I threw him out!”

Marriage is strengthened.

Sometimes I realize that I am wrong. But I do not admit it to anyone. A man must have his own little secrets.

The Lost Keys

4 years ago. and September.
“Nadia, I beat someone else’s child – a bell in the middle of the night, a interrupting voice. Sleep as never happened.
My longtime friend called, the "fighting" about which I already wrote.
Telephone and Internet friendship now. But still though. I will call her Xena. She lives in Poltava, in the area on the mountain called Monastery.]
This cannot be! Don’t worry, I’m trying to reassure you.
*** by
After a hard day of work, with bags and a 10-year-old daughter who walked all the way, not wanting to go to the mountain, tired Xena got home with the only thought - to rest.
The stove and the house were unlocked (somebody was at home), so she did not immediately notice the loss of the ligament from a pair of keys.
But they had recently been in a suitcase on the way home! I seemed to have gone somewhere along the road. It’s dark, I have to go look for it.
The monastery mountain is almost ringed by a railway, built before 1917. Trains on it are not so fast; on this section, the usual - 40, and express - 60 km / h.
Xena and her daughter have already reached the railway, but the keys have not yet been found. There were no people, only a lonely miniature teenage girl, rushing forward. They crossed it and crossed the iron. I heard a train approaching. Ordinary and not quick.
What caused Xena to look around?
of something.
The girl they had overtaken was standing on the rails. And the train already seemed... She ran to her, crashed, pulled away. But the girl, although small, but strong, proved and did not change her intentions. He was on the rails again. Xena again rushed her from there, and the train had already blinked by, but the girl did not give up attempts to account for her life, rushing under the wheels again and again. It looked like a fight; Ksenna had already grabbed her fist, and broke her clothes, and scratched her hands in an attempt to hold back. The girl was crying, screaming something.
He kept, leaving a blue on his hand.
Having found out where she lived, they took her home.
And at home the girl had a daily celebration! In the very height. Fun, vodka, companions... Who is there mother, father, grandmother, grandfather, Xena did not find out. The neighbor came, explained the situation, took the girl to her - she often stayed with her.
Returning home, Xena somehow put her daughter sleeping from the slightest noise.
(The girl cried a few days after seeing it.)
She called me, she told me.
I was shocked and could not think of anything else:
Have you never found the keys?
I found. In the jeans, in the back pocket.
What if I wasn’t lost?
A fifteen-year-old girl would simply not exist.
In the morning, she went to the administration of the college where the girl was studying.
A few days later, she was given a room in the dormitory. Xena for four years unnoticed for the girl was interested in her life.
She appealed to the social service, but advised "not to deprive the child of the parents".
He was aware of her success in school. The girl did not want to contact her. Teachers also participated in the fate of the girl.
From some indirect phrase I understood that I also helped materially.
This girl recently got married and left.
Her parents still have no idea what happened to their child. They have the same holidays almost every day.
Xena says she doesn’t like other people’s children. And I believe that this is the highest manifestation of love, effective love, agape.
I asked her carefully about this difficult event. Not much extended.
I consider her a heroine. She does not agree. She’s still ashamed of that stuff.
“Everyone would have done so. And I, on the contrary, could have fallen into a stupor when I saw the blood,” she said. Only a few people know about this case. Now is you.
At first, she said the phrase "beaten a strange child."
To whom is this child a stranger?

A deputy speaks in the hall and says that schoolchildren have begun to go to unauthorized rallies, for this they need to be deprived of parental rights.
The voice from the room – what if yours goes?
My will not go, the deputy replied, he is studying in London.