Once I came home late from work and found that I had a broken button on my pants. I took a thread, a needle, began to sew, meanwhile, all kinds of thoughts rushed into my head. I looked at myself from the side - well-paid work abroad, like I took place in life and as a person and as a specialist, only as a husband and father I never took place. And so a daughter, and preferably two, wanted to welcome me at home with joy and trembling expectation of a surprise, and that, after all this, from the side watched my beloved and my only one.
And so I became thirsty, I felt such hopelessness and emptiness around me, so I wanted to. Where are my 20 years?
I hate the buttons.