There was a man Petrovich. The man was a slugsman and lived accordingly - from advance to salary and upstream. From salary to advance, too, although it was more difficult psychologically, but from salary to salary would be quite boring.

Mr. Petrovich did not strive for professional growth, due to extreme myopia, although thanks to her and the demand for him was miserable. He and his teacher, when he was still a student, greeted only after he smelled, and he could not ruin his sight even more by self-education and extra-class reading because he did not see the letters.

But there were visible advantages. Invisible to him Soviet television he only listened, and therefore the hypertrophic eggs of ballet dancers from the blue screen did not blur Petrovich, and as his eye-catching colleagues in the hot workshop did not irritate.

Two thick-walled lenses, like from a broken binoculars, attached to the bacon, together with heart-sick comrades helped him somehow to cope with simple duties at work and occasionally write up in the payroll.

After the end of the next loan day and receiving an advance, the labor cell, together with Petrovich, traditionally pumped three corporations on five, and spread across the houses.
The path to Petrovich's birth nest was through the open school stadium. The usual stadium is a football gate, grass to the knee, not big but very cozy.
As it should be, it drowned.

The summers of Petrovich were thicker than the rest, but when he reached the football penalty he distinguished several sitting figures in the doorstep. Petrovich was not interested in football as well as ballet and wanted to pass by, but he was shouted:
Oh man!
In any case, Petrovich added the move.
One of the figures stood up and moved across. Healthy footballer, Petrovich noted, if he is also an attacker, continued to mark Petrovich, then - fucking escape.
Buy a shirt, man. He crossed the road healthy.
On the other side, with the goods in advance, the second approached.

Taking a night market, Petrovich thought again, but had no time to refuse the obsessive offer.
The stake flew from the right corner, clicking on the switch on the back of Petrovich's head.

Due to double anesthesia, the end of the current day Petrovich remembered slowly, and in the subsequent weekends in clear consciousness did not want to come. In a couple with a neighbor, they did not rush to heal the victim's blue face, tasting alcohol compresses and passing the advance.

Everything would have ended, if it hadn’t been a miracle. In the early morning of Monday, he could not believe his eyes. Petrovich looked frightened, slowly looked at his palms, twisted his fingers in front of his eyes – so is it. He saw everything, even the remains of oil under his nails.

His frightened wife stumbled onto the sounds of his mother’s interdomets from the kitchen, and when she saw Petrovich’s glowing joyful blue face, she was even more frightened.
I see! It was Petrovich.
Fuck, the woman thought, not otherwise white. Why should a man be so happy on Monday?
Petrovich has seen.

The story of his miraculous healing quickly became a factory sensation, and caused a lot of outrage from other visually impaired citizens. And what, apologize, forgive again for the sake of all the holy, fucking, all these ophthalmologists with ophthalmologists build out of themselves, reasonably reasoned they. To put two loops to the head and a fool can, and you can try to get rid of the sickness with a stick and even in the dark. This is what devil's skill is needed to have so filigranally twisted dioptria? Hujan - and from minus eighteen accurat to one, even in the long-sightedness did not pass and again, the eyes did not leave. And given the size of the tearful advance, read it for nothing. In one word, Petrovich.

What happened there in the previously near-sighted tower is unknown. The men, of course, suggested that the eyes from the blow just stood up and even guessed where the eyes were before. And Petrovich only smiled, looking at the sides fiercely.

The effect was persistent. A couple of years later, Petrovich really complained to the men that the visual acuity is dim, so they quickly offered him to remind him of the recipe. Petrovich refused, and it was time to retire.