I leave the entrance in the morning. A 10-year-old girl with a backpack goes by and cries, “Sasha, we ran faster. We are late. The dictator is today!” Following is a 10-year-old boy with a backpack on his back and a shoe bag that talks in his hands. It is weaving, barely raising the legs and almost dragging this shoe bag on the ground. Passing by me, the guy sadly said, “We are always rushing somewhere... Enough. I am tired.” And, breathing up, he cried on.