It was a long time, a month or two before I was born. My parents were on a trolley bus to work. When they entered, my mother stuck in the passage - I had to be careful and walk quietly. Dad went to the salon faster, sat down on the remaining seat and called her. When Mom came, Dad gave her a seat. Nearby was a mouthpiece. Hearing that his father invited his mother to sit down, he moved the pregnant woman with his back, pushed her away and splashed into the only free seat from which he stood up. My mother was in a hurry and tried to tell him something. Jolob smiled, stared at his parents and hiccalled disgustingly.

The father reacted furiously. He did not start to shame him, to anger him, not to beat him. He pulled off his gorgeous fur hat from the wretch and threw it out through the door of the trolleybus right into a deep pit at the stop. The man cried out, “You... Etta?” The bullet flew out to catch the hat. His father gave him the acceleration with a pinch under his ass. The trolleybus driver, who, apparently, watched what was happening in the cabin in the mirror, closed the door and not rushed away. The man with a wet hat in his hands tried to catch up with the trolleybus, slapping the cloth and shaking the butt, but the driver did not stop. My mother sat down and safely arrived at the subway.