In the distant 91th year, my sister moved to London, leaving the keys of the apartment to her ex-husband (her apartment). Ivanich loved to walk before the divorce, and here the house was formed. The celebration in the apartment was permanent. Three months later, I came back from a business trip and actively engaged in the fun. I remember the bottles delivered from the balcony were enough for a box of vodka from speculators. Now you don’t remember how and where the money came from in those years, but it seemed enough. Two of the companies were fascinated by the romance of the semi-criminal movement, Ivanovic sold something, I dragged in-tourists around the city, in the evening - fun in my sister's apartment. The composition of the fun changed, some people came to visit, the virgins vary by themselves. But here three girls were almost constantly in the apartment in different variations, then two, then all three, and one child has another. Very convenient - always company and drink and everything else there. And after about three months of such a life, the sister decided to give up the apartment and asked Ivanitsch to take the keys. I came for the keys, he is not in the apartment, only these girls. He asked, “Where is Ivanovic?” The answer pleased him: “We don’t know where Ivanich is, he doesn’t live here.” “How is it?” “Well, we just rent his apartment.”