[_007_] recalled (with excessive satisfaction) how in the times of a happy childhood of the present USSR, a strange boy in school shirt, with a ride - "why am I so proud-independent, if he is older than me?" The type of fight even gathered.)
Next was the oil painting. We synchronously opened the portfolios, got the diaries and saw that he was a class younger. The boy cried, hid a diary and fled somewhere. I’ve been reminded of it for years and I’ve smiled.