Yesterday evening I stood in a traffic jams, at the crossroads of Petrozavodskaya and Dybenko.
There is a huge jeep in front, so what is beyond the horizon is not visible. Silently cursing the brave police and jealous of the speed of the cat, we slowly but still advanced.
Drivers badly biked bikes and remembering Luzhkov’s mother maternated.
Tired of all this, I dumbly look in the rear-view mirror at a blonde sitting in a mini-wine and miraculously, through all the traffic, a motorcycle, not a scooter, namely a motorcycle "Riga-1" is penetrated. As a child, our generation used to ride. Gasoline must be diluted with oil. I noticed from a distance that she, namely the grandmother who sat on it, poured too much oil into the tank, because the pipe of her smoked like a fog in London.
When this motorcyclist was passing by me, I waved her, she saw, waved, and was about to jump into the narrow gap between the American jeep standing in front of me and Lada, as the doors of the jeep opened and the gap became so narrow that the mouse would not jump through, not to mention the motorcycle.
The grandmother spoke loudly to the Jeep passengers:
-Comrades, could you close these doors so that I could pass through?
“Here is you, we stand and you stand.
Not confused, she turns out, enters the door of the jeep from behind and really gives on the gases, the pipe smokes incredibly, a whole cloud of smoke rises, naturally everything goes to the salon. The jeep closes the doors and the grandmother flies safely.
Apparently in vain I thought she poured oil into gasoline, I think now what to share.