It is filled with stories about missionaries and other walks in the houses.
Somebody called at my door. The mood is lyrical. On the machine, I approach, open and see before me a large half of the Gypsy camp.
It begins to sound something from the series "we people are not locals... are behind the train" and then this whole salman is squeezed and with eyes the size of a dish the cubar is taken from the third floor. The back presses the front. and panic! No one understands closing the door. And only when I see myself in the mirror I begin to understand the reason for what happened... The fact is that I came back from fishing the day before. The catch was necessary. This was what I struck when they called on the door. A two-metre dick, shaved naked, with a three-day scarf, in a blood-sprinkled jacket, with a teasac and blood-packed hands :)