End of the 90s. Dagestan, the city of Machachkala, on the central street of Lenin, in front of the entrance to the Promstroudbank stand and smoke friends who told me this case.
Here, with the noise and the whispering of brakes, two jeeps run straight on the sidewalk. From one jeep, Kalashnikov fighters armed with machine guns, equipped with camouflage, jump out and begin to inspect the nearest bushes and trees, looking under every bush, behind every tree. Then they build a living corridor to the door of the bank, give a spark and from the second jeep appears and a quick walk passes and hides in the building the then head of the Pension Fund of the Republic of Dagestan.
All this turmoil, along with my acquaintances, is observed by the grandfather-axacal passing by - in a papahood, with a bark, with a whitened gray beard, he stood at the side all this time, waiting for the opportunity to walk on the sidewalk.
When the guard disbanded and turned aside, the axacal nodded his head from side to side and said:
How much shit do people have to do to be so afraid?
And I went on in my business, leaving my acquaintances in full enthusiasm for the thought expressed by the man who saw life.