Yesterday with the thoughts of passing the session madness quietly home. We are going to cross the road, but suddenly another lady of the Balzac age appears on the horizon with cries like, "Lubasha, how many years, how many winters!" She hugs the lady and starts kissing me with the outcry "Maximka, how you grew up!"
Oh, it’s not a clever feeling when you’re not Maximka and actually just passed by...