It was in his youth, in the late 1990s. We fought often, for and without. Those who lived in the sleeping areas of small towns know.

We go at four o’clock in the morning after some hustle. On the opposite side of the road, along a parallel course, there are four other drunk people. Maybe the guys got bored, and they started harassing us. We guys are calm, so we try not to pay attention to them. For a long time they endured their provocations, but at some point the patience came to an end. Revenge is inevitable. Silently we cross the road, automatically we understand the opponent, and, in the best traditions of the militants of the time, we punish the villains. When the passions vanish, we see one of our guys (Timotheus) standing next to the alleged sparring partner, both smoking, discussing something enthusiastically.

As a result, the hooligans, realizing their mistake, quickly withdrew, and we rushed to find out from the comrade what it was, and why he did not support the attack on his front.

Following the words of Timothy

(T): I run to the man (C), I stumble...

Q: Will you fight?! to

T: Well, in principle, I can’t fight.

Q: Will you smoke?

T: Let it go.



Since then, Timothy has been called a diplomat.