One day I walked through school.
I studied in 7th grade. I woke up in the morning and I realized that he was on the FIG. I went to school yesterday, yesterday too. No lessons for teachers. A good little bit. and stayed at home.
Suddenly, my mother came back. She swallowed her eyebrows and squeezed her lips.
Why are you at home? She asked. Suddenly it became so quiet that I heard a cat walking in the neighboring room.
I started telling a complicated and confusing story without a definite end. Mom listened for a while and looked closely at me. From her gaze my story became even more confusing, and my cheeks were red.
Did you take a short walk? Eventually she clarified. I shamed shamefully.
Mother spoke briefly, but very insightfully, about the inadmissibility of passages and the importance of education. Then she walked away, and I stayed in the room alone with guilt. This feeling filled all my usual games and entertainment. So I sat on the window and stood in the window.
My mother looked into the room.
“Why,” she asked, “are you going to sit there all day?”
I sneered and tried to express my full degree of repentance on my face.
Do not be a fool. My mother said gently. You have already taken a lesson and you can’t cancel it. So at least get the pleasure of walking. Or you did a foolish thing, and it goes out - in vain.
I looked at her suspiciously.
Don’t do something you will regret later. If you already did, do not regret it. There are sweets in the kitchen and you can turn on your console.
For a moment she nodded her eyebrows again and added:
But just try to catch me two...
Mom’s counsel had a controversial pedagogical benefit – I walked thereafter a lot and often. And grown up, if we call things by their names - a fairy tale.
But absolutely happy.
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12.07.2018
and London. Through 3 houses away from us, Poles-builders live, quiet guys: work and bore. But! Sometimes their Polish Master comes to them - a naked, fatty hamlet of small height, on a black mark. His builders are loud, everyone on the street is hamit, periodically blocking anyone with his car. Sometimes he crossed us. After a pronounced conversation, I understood that we were not English, and he was no longer parking for us.
There are also ice cream vendors who sell ice cream from cars. A group of eight strong men. These create a very sweet impression: good-hearted people, behave politely, do not cheer, smile, bad looks do not discard anyone.
Yesterday the Master came, folded the ice creamers, tastily splintered, threw them all around with a fierce look and... got to the mouth, several times, from polite ice creamers.
The police arrived. He went out like a debilitated child, demanded urgent action, complained that everyone is very aggressive to him. His builders also laughed, and he whispered:
Yes yes yes! Cuba, such a shit, no one respects you.
Police spoke to everyone - the owner is banned from entering the street, so as not to create conflict situations.