day of elections. The weather is disgusting. It has been raining since morning. The headquarters monitors the will process. Suddenly a call from an agent from the polling station: catastrophe! The zero appearance. Before entering the site is a shallow, but rather extensive pit. In the morning, the commission came and took the defense. And then the rain filled the field like a world town. And citizens who are not too inclined to water-dirty procedures are abstained from going to the urn. What to do?! to

The headquarters feels rectal stimulation. The phones of the city administration, the DRSU, the managing company, the god soul his mother in the grave are broken... Two hours later, Kamaz-samosval with a sludge runs into the courtyard of the unlucky polling station and rolls the contents of the body into the damned pit. It quickly crashes from place and disappears in the water.
The water displaced from the basin floods twice the area, turning it into impassable dirt. But in the place of the lawn rises a careful pebble hill. Carefully supporting the door of the polling station. The Electoral Commission (UIC) quietly whispers the blocked inside. Voters refuse to re-qualify as rock climbers-speleologists and still do not go to the trap of free choice. A quietly mad UIC begins to raise wild ideas like voting through the window.
The headquarters in total madness is sitting on the phones again. Erch your copper, are you completely squeezed, architects of the Tuevas? Why did you cast stones on the polling station? quickly to dig. Kamaz arrives, four men jump out with their blades, throw a slice, jump back into the body. Kamaz quickly unfolds over the scattered slice and, leaving two wide beads, instantly filled with rainwater, again disappears in the distance.
The choked headquarters runs on the agitators - running on the entrances, all on the Autodore, children! Wear voters to the urns. Take the portable urns that are available and run through the apartments! The appearance! The appearance! The appearance! You are here, Masha! It is close to catalytic. Observers don’t care about everything, they’d just get out of captivity. People with urns from running under the rain jump through the kamazi canyons. With tiny umbrellas cover the bulletins and urns from rainy streams.
It is time to close the site. The urns were drawn, someone was persuaded to come and vote. It seems like it is time to summarize the results. And here in the room comes such a God-grandmother. “Where are you going to vote?” he asked.
Sorrow is full. The doors of the site are closed, the crocodile river outside. Where did she come from through the window? It turns out, no. I arrived in the morning, still dry. Tired of a long journey. She sat down on the staircase at the battery and fell asleep. I slept by night and got out of the shelter. With a persistent intention to pour out what has been accumulated. Put a cross in the county.

Do you know what’s fun about this saga? At the highest level in the city.