I sit at home, chew sandwiches, I don’t touch anyone. Here, the body of a neighbor's grandmother Vera from the fifth floor passes through the window. The floor of her famous coat grows into a flowerhouse in which she goes out every day for milk. A dumb man on asphalt. I run down the entrance on my bending legs, imagining that it’s going to start now. Brains on the asphalt, police, interrogations, relatives cry. The worst was, the hands trembled, nausea to the throat... It turned out, this fool took the repair and not to strain, just e@nul the back of the couch from the balcony down. And since she worked for a number of years in a fabric factory, she had not only a coat, but also curtains, and a couch - everything was from the same wrought in a flower.