A running man

On May 9th, I went to Dacia. The streets were almost empty, all the people sat around the houses and celebrated.
The suburbs of Moscow were not covered by the May heat and the air conditioner that did not wake up from the winter sleep saved me from the hustle of hell.
Suddenly stuck in a deaf traffic, where it should not be at all, the navigator showed that somewhere far away the road is blocked, the holiday still.
The smokers left their cars, decorated with red bars, and spread across the square to breathe hot asphalt.
Then I saw him for the first time.
It was a long-strung, white-brushed sergeant, he walked by a halo by me, cleverly, like a deer, maneuvering between standing cars. It seemed that somewhere nearby, behind the square, a truck with parade fighters was waiting for him, and the sergeant suggested not to delay his own.
Twenty minutes later, the stream slowly moved, the thing went and soon I saw it again. The sergeant ran somewhere far ahead of me, not as fast and not as easy as before, but with all human strength and it was visible. He fled like a wounded pilot from German shepherds. Within ten minutes I gradually pursued and equaled the runner, opened the window and shouted:

Oh the fighter! I am in the direction of Zvenigrod, if on the way, sit down, I will drive.

The grimass of the runner's pain was replaced by surprise, and then an unfailing childhood joy. The sergeant rushed to me, and then the forces left him, he just as a puppet stood down. The car smelled nostalgic. At first, the poor man could only hardly breathe, as the dying dog breathes at the veterinarian, then he paused between inhalations and pulled out a whispering sickle:

and Hassie Hassia.
Yes, not for what. You are quiet, don’t talk yet, calm down and rest well. Here is the water bread.

After a few minutes, the traffic was completely dissolved and we flew under sixty. Wet, as if out of the bath, the sergeant was able to speak almost without suffocating:

Thank you very much for picking up. We were moved to another point yesterday, and my mother came to me in the old part, well, Mom. Half a day. The surprise wanted to do. She has a train tonight. Now she has to go back to the station. The commander let me go, and I ran away. I had no time and had no hope of anything. You have to run, right? If not you... sorry, I should...

The sergeant picked up the number and almost shouted at his little phone: “Mom, Mom, I’ll be able to wait! I’m being taken by car, you know? I will surely succeed! Stay there! I kissed.”

I shortened the march of throwing to this fighter by eight kilometers, brought him to the CPC itself, and even saw my mother slightly.

It all seemed to have ended well, but I was so saddened by this story. It cannot be, because it can never be. What kind of aliens have gathered around me? And where did the aliens get the cars with the banner of Victory? None of the hundreds of aliens who passed by picked up an asphyxiating man on Earth. And only, for some reason, I handed myself out with a little bit. Especially sad from the realization that if suddenly, in the middle of the street will catch the heart, then me and any other person, no one will help, because aliens are not helpers to people.