When I was a child, my mother often visited me. One of her acquaintances lived in a communal. I liked it, it was so old and strange. The shelves in the refrigerator are signed, in the corridor a number of varied hangers, and in the bathroom a parade of soaps.



I remember I went to the bathroom, closed the door on a tick, wanted to sit down when the shadow was on top. In the window between the bathroom and the toilet, the old lady struck me, and since she was blinded, she pressed her face to the glass so that it splashed.



All things were done instantly, I opened the door and already wanted to run to my mom when I was grabbed by the hand.

I just watched what you were doing there. Never take my paper. I understood?



I realized I couldn’t live in the community.