The story is written with the consent of the second participant.
I cannot say that life abroad has failed, but something is lacking, or our Slavic brotherhood, or the old life of carelessness, without rules and obligations. As in the cliché, there is money, there is no happiness. Recently set the goal of buying a car, not a new, yet the mind still remained, and such a "almost new". He quickly found a year-old car of his favorite brand, with minimal length, drove on a test drive and, since the money was there, immediately issued a purchase. They like quick shopping. took the car to the evacuator and sent to them (without a temporary number can not drive). Returned to his land, while issuing the number and insurance, another week has passed - here, the car glitters on the shredded sides. I drove home, put on a parking lot in the parkhouse and decided to check the CD as it works (a lot of branded disks, so the presence of a CD player was a condition). I put the disk in the slot, it doesn’t go. He pushes stronger and resists. The mind is enough to pay attention to the icon on the screen and I understand that the slot is busy with the disk. Probably left from the previous owner inside. I got it, twisted it in my hands, nothing unusual, a red-white sticker with a mark signature. I think I will listen. And then something happened, a thunderstorm struck me, a lightning flashed and I was paralyzed. The first chords are familiar to the pain, but something unusual, I sit down, the chords have changed, there is no voice, the orchestra continues to play. “Cinema,” “Cinema” is screaming! performed by the Symphony Orchestra. How long I have been waiting for you. What is not there and you will not find. I sit and listen, 1 hour and 38 minutes without movement, in the parking lot, trying not to miss a single sound. I sit down, sing familiar words and cry, an adult 50-year-old uncle. The disk stopped and I got back. At first I thought, thank God for giving me this work of art. Then I thought, fucking, you won't find the disc with us, the man obviously came by himself or on order from Russia. Maybe I forgot, I need to get it back. I went where I bought the car. The search began. According to local laws, the dealer is not allowed to give contacts to the previous owner, one of the service mechanics suggested that the owner of the car worked in a construction supermarket. There are only two in this town. I checked one, there are no Russian speakers, the second was a Russian-speaking man (a late migrant from Kazakhstan), but there is no work, it will be tomorrow. I don’t give the address, I rent a hotel. I come tomorrow, find a man, in a specialty, servicing tools after renting. I’m going, I found a disk in the car, didn’t you? The man jumped, grabbed the disc and almost crying said, “...your mother, cursed all in the world, I carry it with me everywhere and listen. He turned the whole house, and as he realized that the disc may have been forgotten in the car, ran to the dealer. I turned everything at the dealer - your address was not given. I brought this disc from Peter from the concert! There is the signature of Kasparyan himself!”
Stayed for a few days. With a new friend, we sat in the evenings, drank vodka and sang the songs of Tsoy, performed by the symphony orchestra. I ordered the same disc, with delivery, life is improving.