One day I got a letter from a brother with whom we hadn’t talked in four years. Please borrow money. I think, ah, I probably hacked it, too, in the UK by the way. She asked her sister to call him back and warn him that he had been hacked. But everything turned out to be easier. He asked for money.

The co-curator on the shoulder of one of my friends was a Georgian, having one peculiarity - he did not have two phalanges of the index finger on his left hand. A peculiar sense of humor has turned this physical defect into a source of constant jokes. When he pretended to have his finger cut into his ear or nose, those who saw it for the first time did not know about his physical condition.

In the defect, there was a feeling that the finger was immersed deep into the brain, which in women teachers caused at least hysteria, but there were also fainting.

In the process of training, various relatives from Georgia came to him, father, uncle, brothers, etc., and my friend was surprised to find that this defect is of a family nature - all men did not have two phalanges of the index finger on the left hand, and only one uncle - on the right.

Attempts to understand this strange phenomenon led only to one conclusion (as the little one in the Yakuza) - it is a kind of mafia, and the one who has a distinctive sign on his right hand - the leader.



Attempts to ask questions met with distractive answers, different and not explaining the phenomenon. Georgia is dark.

During the arrival of another relative, during the feast, my friend, after a moment, asked the question that tormented him to an inexperienced relative. He replied, "Eye, you panime with the daraga, we cut the chicken so, caught the head with a knife, and sometimes you forget to bend your finger. My uncle is left.

My father had a colleague. Professor, candidate of sciences. He left the house and disappeared. We were looking for it honestly and for as long as possible in 1991. Then they were declared missing and then dead.

A young wife and a young son burned, and began to improve their lives. She married again 10 years later.

Nine years later, a brown-grey priest appears on her doorstep.

It turns out that 19 years ago he went for the bread. His way was through a garage cooperative, where he was hit in the head and stupidly stolen some little thing.

From this blow, he lost his memory. Then he found himself in a hospital where he was not sought for some reason, and then went to some monastery. He completed the seminar on new documents and accepted the san. He was a philosopher by education, and his memory was lost quite selectively, so in the seminary he was easy.

He then married and served in the village church.

And one day he reads a sermon, forgot the text began to remember and at the same time all the past life remembered.

Their families are different now. Communicate sometimes. Such things.

By the way, the monastery to which he attacked is located in the same area of the city. The church is 15 km from the house.

It’s good when children read books from bark to bark, not from bark to bark.

I come out of the entrance with a courier, under the bandage loaded with fashionable clothes of famous brands. With one hand, the guy tries to hold the clothes-shoes that did not fit the buyer, the other calls the employee's number. It burns out immediately:
I didn’t get anything, infection. Just re-photographed everything and posted it on Instagram. Seriously, you have to pay for it.

Would you go to Pugacheva’s last concert?
We were that year!

2006 year

Eye pulled out an announcement in the column of the newspaper: "Vacancy of a massage worker, a friendly team, the possibility of providing housing, p / p from 15 t.p."

I pick up the fixed phone, scroll the disk:

I am talking about the vacancy of a massage worker.

Yes I listen.

I have the highest degree, medical certificate.

You do not fit us!

The scope of practice.

No is

I catch up with the sludge:

Knowledge of English.

No is!

But why?! to

So educated and so stupid. This is Bordeaux!