My first day at school was like this:

First day at school.

I went to the ambulance with my mother.

brought to class.

Second day at school.

Remember the road to school?

I remember it!(But I remembered approximately, and I never said “no”)

I don’t have time, go out alone.

I am OK.

The school found. The office as well (as I thought). I studied for two weeks in second grade.

I often read on Picaba stories about the greed and "adequacy" of individual personalities, but usually in my life I rarely encounter such, but today has become an exception.

I went to the nearest shopping center to buy rolls in a local store. There at 21 starts the sale of the remains of what they have prepared during the day. From 21.00 to 21.45 discount 20%, from 21.45 to 22.00 discount 50%. People thirsty for the maximum discount, start to get in line much in advance and wait for 20-30 minutes.

I approach the seller, about 21.30 and take the last 6 pieces of Philadelphia, some last with acne, in general I pick up a large box for my whole family. And then the aunt from the row indignantly and reproachfully says to me, "Wow, could not get in the row? You see, people are standing. I would stand and wait with everyone.” Apparently the aunt in her head has already planned what she is going to take now and how delicious she will eat, and there is a breakdown. I answered, of course, that nobody hindered her from buying rolls as she came and not standing in a row, but for her I remained a bastard who doesn’t think about others at all)))

This story was told to me by a former police officer in 1996 during a joint trip to a wine and vodka factory. At that time he worked with me in a law firm as a lawyer in economic affairs. He was 60 at the time, so I think this story won’t hurt him anymore.

My uncle was very interesting. Impulsive, after the word in the pocket does not climb, such an electromagnetic. He resigned from the police, not serving until retirement for several years, and for what reason - did not speak.

There was nothing to do in the evening on a business trip and so he told me all sorts of stories from his rich police life. I tell the story as I have heard and remembered. I think that in the terminology of the police and legal I’m wrong somewhere, but don’t be disappointed, I’m not a specialist in this.

A story from the first person.



I worked at the end of the 1970s in a large village near the district center. And I had a local debosher and a drunkard. He did not give life to his wife or neighbors. I planted it several times for 15 days, and in the area he was several times in all slight affairs, such as "going into the cellar, drinking a port wine and sleeping there." And it would be okay for one to behave like that, so no, there were constantly gathered around him all kinds of blurred personalities and local crap.

My wife was drunk often. I’ll take him to the department, get stuck in the corner, I’ll start writing, and his wife comes with a finger, persuades me to forgive him and let go. And so week by week.

Indicators he regularly spoiled me, then hit, then something is broken, then a complaint on me will write. In short, one hemorrhoid was with him.

Once again he got drunk and beat his wife very hard. I was in the district center for my business that day and came to the village already in the evening. From the locals learned the story that his wife he beat heavily, neighbors barely reassured him. The woman was taken to a rural medical centre. I come to the medical center - and her ambulance has already taken her to the district center. He broke her eye and broke her hand.

Well, I think you are such a fucker, now you will not hide behind my heart-sick wife, you will definitely get into the zone. And all of this nervous went to him at home.

I approach the house, and his house goes out through the windows to the street, there is no palace and when you approach, you can see, if the curtains are not shut, what is happening at home. I see - and this fool stands on the board, neck in the loop and looks where I am. See, I realized that now he did not turn away from the zone and decided to commit a suicide attempt to foolishly cut off (and then suicides were always sent for treatment in psychiatric hospitals).

He saw that I was already under the windows, and drowned the table. I first rushed to the door, but then the thought came to my head, sat down on the shop, smoked papyrus. I sat down and smoked in a hurry. He entered the house, examined the body, called the officer, committed suicide.

I fell then from the boss a little for suicide on the site, but the problems became less.

His wife's hand strained, and the eye, as it turned out, did not beat her husband, but only hurt her heavily. The vision was restored later.

Sometimes at an interview, on the vacancy of a salesman, I talk to the commercial director (CD), she asks questions all different and all that.

KD says so briefly – “tenders?”

I say yes.

CD – what is it?

What is Tender?

She was slightly dependent. He then said that the questions should be formulated more accurately.

I was not taken there. It is strange.

Xxx: never understood the point of buying very expensive when there is the same but times cheaper. If I had a lot of money, I’t spend it on expensive things anyway. After all, the money can be spent on something really fascinating and fascinating - let's say to sift yourself a vagina and then back a penis, hire yourself super bodyguards and then order yourself from top killers, pay all former classmates and schoolchildren to pretend that they were all 10 years old and taught a lesson like 20 years ago, and you are sitting the smartest and you can send everyone to the cockroaches...

Yyy: And spit them all vagines!

Of course, talk is a find for a spy. But you can’t even imagine the value of a spy for talk!

Guarding the city. The day is summer, doctors on vacation, patients with pain go with an endless flow.
Suddenly, the administrator of the clinic rushes into the office and, looking at me with huge horror eyes, reports that there is a man sitting down there, just three days ago released from the prison, where he spent eight years for murder. And now he has a tooth pain, he is aggressive, we will all die and what to do?! to
The assistants start a slight tremors, so I have to go for the killer to the reception. There, among women, children and the elderly, he sits, barely fit into a chair, with a thick-headed beard grumbling, one-on-one like me, only twenty centimeters higher, heavier and all in tattoos.
I kindly invite him to the office. I ask what I can help.

“You know, doc,” replies the giant, “I haven’t been to doctors in the last few years. My tooth is sick, I can’t stand it. I actually, shamefully adds the buggy, chew you as I fear, so you, doc, please be more careful.

I am so careful. I don’t want him to stay here for another eight years.

In short, I healed a scary tooth, he left pleased, wanted to become a constant patient, but I politely lied that we were overcrowded and new patients are not taken yet.
He breathed out with relief, and the assistant is already leading the next patient. A small glass like that, weighing from my cat. The man is dissatisfied that he had to wait a long time, looks badly under his glasses, well, we are all off, after the killer, no one is afraid of us. Strictly explain to him that there is a live turn, and whoever does not want to wait can go to the pharmacy for paracetamol. I see, angry, even a pair of ears coming out. I was just going to look him in the mouth, as the administrator again enters the office with the question:

"Doctor, the previous patient to whom you treated pulpitis, well, the lawyer, asks, can we still write it as an exception?

What other lawyer? I am not lulling.

And the glasses don’t stand:

Will you cure me? I was more respected in prison than in your barracks.

What a deceitful appearance.

Dmitry Shahin

A sign of adulthood is when in "The Three Musketeers" you begin to get sick for Richelieu - a statesman who was nervous with four alcoholics, three prostitutes and a degenerate in the crown.

There lived in our yard a Russian family, a father, a mother and their son Petya, people just incredible size, they were not fat, they were large. To understand, when Petya studied in the 7th grade (about 14 years old), his shoes were sewn on order – 47th size.

It is not about Peter. The incident happened to his father, somewhere in the mid-1970s. I, then chagall, I walk on the street, Petin Daddy comes to meet me, he is well-picked, he is choked, and Ments UAZik is on the road. Not to notice my neighbor they could not, so, slowing down, went out to pick up not a sober citizen. Since it is Asia and the majority of the population are Uzbek, they are also in menta.

They fly to the neighbor and the citizen pass. The neighbor, apparently not the first time, just lay on the sidewalk and lay down. His coins were kicked by his hands – they could not move, they dropped him and left with nothing. Pete’s father stood up and went home.

My singing teacher told me.

In his youth, he sang in the cocktail of friends, the people who drank ordered songs and paid money, everything was not in charge.

On Saturday evening, a sad man comes in and goes straight to my teacher.

“What kind of woman” do you know?

of course.

How many hours?

The hour? I have not been paid for the clock yet.

Okay, that’s $500, can you sing for three hours? My wife left me...

Okay, I can do it.



And he sang. The man drank.

Three hours of the same song. Since then, she says, I will never be able to sing her again.