You run, sometimes, on a warm summer day on the sun-filled green lawn; you run barefoot, blissfully closing your eyes, placing your face to the sun... And so you are well, you hear the singing of birds, you feel the warm wind on your face, you feel the soft grasses with your feet... And here - CHAVK - and you are impressed with your whole feet in a large bunch of stinking shit, so that it runs through your fingers.

Approximately the same, bljad, the feeling arises when, following a normal, positive, astute quote in the "Best" immediately comes some awkward "remember" or "how hard-to-live" in this country.

Moral: Don’t go to the stall.