I sold my car yesterday and I was on the bus today. The grandfather came in, clearly committed to communication. I tried to engage in a dialogue with the conductor. She was young to load him. He apologized and tried to stick to the driver - the same result. I felt sorry for him.



I am tall – my height is more than 2 meters. That’s why I was sitting – my neck is running to stand bending in Korean buses – the lilips are those Asians. He hardly tried to climb one of the two free seats, and they were on a characteristic altitude in the place where the wheel was under the bottom. I offered him my place, but he proudly refused. And he flew straight from the happiness that he was talked to, in the wheel seat.



All the way to work, I listened to his stories about his city, about his past. I was not at all then. "On this stop before there was a forest, such oils grew. My sister and I are in 67 years. This is the birthplace I built. Then I took the children from here. Now they grew up: the son in Kamchatka, the daughter in Moscow. They totally forgot about me. They call twice a year on Birthday and New Year’s Day. The old man silenced. "But I was also born in this birthplace," I took my grandfather from sad thoughts. He was glad that I listened and answered. And I was glad to have the opportunity to make him happy.



Here is my stop. I say goodbye and leave. After taking a few steps, I thought that if I turned around now, he would take my hand out of the departing vehicle. He stopped turning. On the wrinkles face of a smile, he grinds with his hand. I answered the same.



Fuck, I need to call the bat in Krasnodar, since "New Year" I have not spoken to him. Suddenly he also climbs on the wall of loneliness.