We go home with my mother, look from a distance - on the stairs leading to the entrance door, there is a body sitting, red from the influences and swinging from side to side. Dangerously passing by, I hear his dark, but clear whirling.
The Body:
and Bamberg.
Mother, apparently, mechanically, remembering the winged phrase:
Kirgizistan is bamboo!
The body raises the head, then follows the question said with sincere drunken astonishment:
Where do you know Russian?
When I opened the door, my hands trembled from the hard-held rust.