The Seven by Dorian Gray
I lived in Lviv in an old Polish house. All the neighbors knew each other as licked and generally coexisted friendly. In joy - envious and outraged, in sorrow - instantly rushed to help, all like everyone else.
But one uncle stood out sharply on a common background. His name was Pan Yuzik and he was a party and Soviet worker. Yuzik was distinguished by a fucking character and the same appearance: thin legs, pulse, chest...
The chief was he apparently big – one day I saw how Yuzik, with all the people, put our district at the stand “miraculously” and with his powerful party voice polished him with a matte...
One night, the militia expelled seven quiet drunkards from our house, and half a year later, a simple village grandmother settled in their empty apartment and, in combination, Yuzika’s mother.
To fear our "servant of the people", the neighbors became even more, and to respect - less.

But Yuzik had one stunning quality, for which he was appreciated and tried to embrace him - it was the attitude to his car.
Around the year 83, Yuzik entered our courtyard on a new "seven". No one has seen the Seven before. From other courtyards came to see the miracle of the automotive industry, we even stumbled in front of other guys:
- This is the car of our Mr. Yuzik, and in your courtyard there is no such thing.
“Servants of the people,” as is the case, must try – is there no poison in the master’s bite? But they preferred to start the tasting with household cars and black caviar, well, not the point.
Years went by and Yuzik became a universal authoritative. Just what is the question of extending the life of the battery or how to tune out new balls? - immediately ran to him and Yuzik was willing to give cloudy advice on protecting the car from unforgiving time... Now the fig, and then the "gigol" stood exactly like an apartment, so he was obliged to ride his owner's whole life, and then pass to his grandchildren in heritage...
But the years went by, the country changed, not only the “seven” of Yuzik. Everything also shone, flew, and nothing in it grumbled or sneezed, once a week Pan Yuzik like a stick - carefully washed it out of the hose, but no one ever saw him lying under the car.
Party workers don’t crack and their cars don’t break, point.
The year 1991 came.
A year like a year, only Yuzik for some reason stumbled, grabbed a yellow-blue badge and quietly dropped to the United States. And his faithful "seven" was still as sadly standing under the windows waiting for the owner... It was a miracle, but the car looked the same as in the distant 83.
It was recorded by Mr. Yuzika’s mother and she, not thinking long, sold it.
Seven to my neighbor. All the courtyard as appropriate washed the purchase and asked about the price of the question. Having heard the number, the men stumbled inappropriately:
- Yeah, something expensive you took, you would trade, yet eight years is
age for the car... but although money inflation kills every day,
The car is in excellent condition, okay.
The happy owner of the "seven" barely holding a smile - waited for a break and said: on the occasion of eight years - there is a small nuance: Mommy Yuzika told me everything: it turns out - this chicken poop starting from the 83rd, every year in his office at the state price bought a new "seven" of the same color, and the old sold twice as expensive, so that this car was six months old of all, and the eight-year-old in it only numbers...

The party worker should be an example of humility in the home.