Electricians are the first instrument of class justice. When I ride the electric car, I feel that I have a stone in my hand, the cell phone is ringing at the Vladimir station, and the annual stock of seeds is stored in the secret pocket of the sports suit. Because all the steep chariots with bankers, oligarchs and their fairies are forced to stop at the railway transit, when I pass by, grimping my proletarian wheels, all of this I and a few hundred other such miserables.