I go to work through the cemetery in the morning, so 15 minutes faster. Winter, narrow path, as always. I pull my hand out of my pocket, the keys cling to the wrapper and fly out into the wrapper. Right to the grave.

The fullest stupor. At least I want to dig there. But in my head was a thought: I won’t get home without them. Okay, but you are laughing. The thought turns. Shrinking in Shrinking. Here comes a man. And I sit at the grave, breaking the snow and complaining so:



I cannot get home...



And then it came to me what I said, it began to roar. And the man probably won’t go through the cemetery anymore.