Yesterday in the bakery near the house appeared the first cakes. And for me, cuddles are what I love Easter for, so of course, “give two!” In the line next to him stood an elderly woman who, of course, could not just take and keep silent. So I was informed that the bulls would dry up by Sunday. And when I said that I was not going to wait for Sunday, there began to be such worship and confusion about my sinful self, that I quickly grabbed my bowls and dropped them. Now I eat my puddle and think of the strange things of the world: how many thieves, murderers, rapists live in the world, and I should be ashamed that I ate the puddle not on Easter.