In the early 1990s, we didn’t have computers and the internet, we played tiles. I don’t remember the rules now, I remember, the goal was just to throw my tile into the hole and take the tile of those who didn’t throw it. To extract tiles came from the walls of houses - scratching them with a knife.

In general, one day I lost all the tiles, and in the neighboring courtyard I received from some uncle a necklace and the threat of losing my head at the next meeting. So in my world came ruin, hopelessness, as well as quarrels with my brother and peers because of the tile money.



The older boys (aga, 14-15 years old) went for tiles to "Stole" - an abandoned glass factory, but we, the little ones, were not taken with us. It is understandable, because in this mysterious place the unlucky traveller could be caught by the "Watchmen", or you could fail to fall into a hole with a winding armor, or just get lost.

Once a miracle happened: an older boy from the neighboring house was about to go for a harvest and was ready to take a padavan with him. My joy and adrenaline had no limits, but first I needed the approval of my ancestors.

When I asked my mother for permission to go fucking with a little-known boy in search of a lost hernia, she for some reason refused me.)



We continued to argue about tiles with my brother, and even started buying tiles for money instead of school lunches. However, the parents found an unusual solution to the problem. One weekend, the whole family sat in the car and went to an abandoned factory for a craving hernia.

Our sight appeared: a couple of semi-destructed buildings and a factory territory, all covered with tiles. Several overturned boards of the fence, metal columns for the grid - a rabbit - all this indicated the line of the former fence.

The tiles were rolled everywhere on the grass, in all the bushes and grasslands. White, gray, blue, green, there were even semi-transparent and turquoise tiles. Their eyes fled from such richness and diversity. We quickly filled the household bag, taken with us, and, gaining courage, approached the buildings themselves. Apparently, the elders did not come here, fearing the guard, because here I began to get pieces of colored glass. It was not flat window glass, but real glass stones of blue and green colors. The large fragments were the size of a litre bowl. From such happiness, I suddenly dared and decided that in the company of my parents the guards are not afraid of us – in the extreme case, we will all have time to jump into the car and leave them. Walking a little further, I found a piece of black glass stone, the size of my head, as well as a sky-blue stone, which changed colour to yellowish when the angle of view changed.



Glass wealth was still stored for a long time in bags and bags in the corner of the corridor, sometimes extracted from there to praise guests and gift friends.

I realized the genius of my parents’ decision many years later. We stopped arguing about the tiles, we stopped interested in them at all.



There is no place for quarrels when all the treasures of the world lie in your corridor.