In a deserted courtyard, a guy is talking on a mobile phone. There are two city sanitarians passing by - bombs with a pack of aluminum pots and large pieces of armor in their hands. One of them, pointing to the side of the guy, asks the other:
Need a tube?
He sneezes and, squeezing with the armaturin, moves onto the guy. The guy is silent in half a word, cramped, apparently looking for either a way to escape, or a protective tool, while trying to push the phone into his pocket. Bohm is inclined, picking up a piece of water pipes rolling at the boy's feet and the procession is removed, staringly looking at the territory. He is nervously smoking.