I am a change manager. The owner’s wife is an artist. A beautiful lady, smart, talented, but flattering. After drinking, she begins to paint portraits, and somehow she gets to get a character. That is, you look at the picture and understand what this person has in mind, what he lives, what he fears and so on. Before I read about this in books, considered the author's imagination, but believe me, I saw it in reality. A week ago the boss was not there, and his wife is not entering the territory. The machine was broken, itself blue, sat in the corner of the shop, put a bottle of vodka in his feet and began, periodically crawling, silently drawing portraits of workers in a regular notebook with the simplest ball pen. I, of course, lighted that the work continued, like nothing happened and everything as it should be. He called the boss, he came, took her home and, according to rumors, then coded. And the notepad I picked up, there were about 20 sketches, and... I finally understood who spit the Bulgarian.