In 1994, when I was seven, the biggest holiday for me was a trip to McDonald’s. They were not in every corner. These trips were the third place for me after New Year’s Day and birthday. Now my brother is 7 years old (my mother gave me a gift for 20 years). And for him, the greatest celebration is if he is allowed to eat a rollon or a rooster. No, you don’t think the family is rich, and he eats well. Just for him, McDonald’s is already something ordinary that doesn’t cause fear. But the forbidden ugly patch in his head is associated with some sort of magic.