This happened in the 90s. I was 6. My sister and I went to the theatre. The sister got the money, I got the theatrical binoculars, beautiful, white with a lacquered coating and gold inscriptions.

And then, the sister went for the cakes. Only in the theater they were inexpensive, and we, the children of budgeters, saw these same cookies either in the theater or in dreams.

I sit, I hold the binoculars, I wait for the cakes. The grandmother of God is well dressed. Borrow a sweet binoculars, I'm old - I can't see anything, then return. I was a shy boy 6 years old with upbringing and respect for the elderly, I could not send her, but honestly believing that my grandmother could not cheat, gave his treasure to an old cute grandmother. Thanks, she fled in an unknown direction. I am a 6-year-old loch until I realized that the grandmothers are different, including the rats. The annotation ended, the sister came, the cake before her ended, I mean I sit down and don't see a fig instead of the cake.

After the speech, the sister asks, where is the bell, the binoculars? I say so and so, I sit and wait for the grandmother to return the binoculars.

How she spoke to me then. Of course, I didn’t get him back. We were looking for that grandmother.

P.S. I hope this grandmother was unable to return the binoculars due to a heart attack.

P is SS. Teach your children that you cannot trust others from a young age.

My father taught me never to direct a gun on a person, even in a joke, even if checked, even if without a store.

My neighbor asked me for a gas key. I went out with him to the garage. I crawl into the toolbox and hear the neighbor picking up the pipe from behind. I turn around, and he has my old toy pistol in his hands, which was shooting with plastic bullets. “Hands up!” The neighbor smiles. I told him not to point a gun at a man. He directs to the ceiling and shoots, and nothing except dust comes out of the trunk: "You see, I have checked what you are afraid of." He nodded again and directed into his mouth and shot again. A dead beetle runs straight into his throat.

Here I am forty soon, and I still remember how I once lost memory as a teenager, for a short time. The Matrix failed.



I was less than fifteen years old. I run from the street home, hungry like a wolf. No one’s home. I, in order not to shudder for a long time, to heat food and all that (because at fifteen years and up to twenty-five, I metalled everything that was unshakable) decided to quickly blur the sandwich. He got a whole bowl of bread, cut off a piece, removed the rest of the bread. He got the sausage, cut off a piece, put it on the bread, removed the rest of the sausage. He swallowed the sandwich and didn’t even understand. I decided to make another one. I go to the bakery for bread and... it’s empty. I stood up a little bit, I understand that I probably didn’t put it there, but I don’t remember where. A full tremor began. I broke the whole kitchen, opened all the suspensions, trays, penals, cabinets, refrigerator and even the garbage can. I literally wandered and searched the whole kitchen, there was no bread. Not a piece! Fourteen minutes later, I was in despair. I forgot about hunger. I began to think that I had gotten the corn and there was no bread and no sandwich I ate. There was a failure of the system. And to the most annoying and frightening even, I am not a fool, right? I held the bread with my own hands and cut it, and then I ate. I opened the refrigerator for the fifth time and looked stupidly at the sausage and understood that my hands were doing it. I turned a dull glance at the knife on the table and I understand it in the sausage. In short, I was tired and very upset, cut off with a knife that was lying on the table, a piece of sausage from the refrigerator and without bread, chewing the sausage, broke into my room.



I turned on a movie on the view, I lie down watching a movie, I try to distract myself from the episode in the kitchen. I don’t know how long it has been, but it has cut me off. I jumped, almost running to the kitchen. Some gestal of my brain gave me information where I had not yet looked. From this signal not only the brain worked, but also revived hope in the heart. Hope I’m not a fucker yet.

And here I am, full of adrenaline (heart beats) and hopefully standing again in front of the refrigerator, carefully and slowly opening the door and then, even more carefully and slowly opening the small door of the freezer.



and bingo! The cock! It is frozen, frozen already. I was happy like a fool. I don’t know, don’t ask me what...I put it there. I still don’t know the name of this phenomenon. But the fact remains a fact. We call it a matrix failure.

Many people believe that birds are flying south.

I think the birds are flying north.

In 1987, a struggle broke out around one school. No, not one on one and not even a dozen on a dozen, but on both sides more than a thousand young boys. Approximately six hundred technicians and the same, and maybe more, from the city where this technician was located. In general, the passion boiled, the stucco broke...
How can we stop such a fight when there was neither Omona nor Sobra yet? If only by army units or gathered from all over the city. Everything was done by one man. Fitzgerald Technical College. A former military who passed hot spots. Go through the crowd with hysterical screams – Atas! The Mint! Ride the nails! The soldiers! His panic was caught and everything resolved by itself. People fled everywhere, in communities and in houses. The man in the army understood that not only the courage of the city takes, but also panic.

How to stop the riots in America?
It is possible to tell the white people.