Snowmen of easy behavior.

Some years, maybe fifteen years ago, celebrated the New Year in the suburbs of Moscow, with relatives. Well, we sat quietly, family-friendly, and in the morning started gathering home, on the first bus. The people were already walking, the streets were quiet, deserted, and frozen. Soon to the stop unheardly rushed the flight Icarus, we entered, and trembled. The entire bus was filled with snowflakes. A dozen two, or maybe three girls, in the same costumes and hats, sat here and there throughout the hall. Who dreamed, who looked into the frosty window, who spoke loudly, or who pulled champagne from plastic glasses. Snowmen were more like watchmen returning home after a difficult shift than passengers on a bus. It even stole a thought, and whether we sat there at all. However, soon after the fractures of the phrases, the mystery of the snowflakes was clarified. The girls of easy behavior returned from some New Year’s event. We settled in the corner, the salon plunged into the usual tree, and the bus rushed further.

While somewhere in the middle of the deserted highway did not stop to pick up another accidental passenger.
The doors opened, the street smelled cold, drizzle, and into the salon, shrinking and scratching, crashed... Santa Claus! The real! Low-growth colorful old man in red caftan, with a support and a bag behind his back. And even his beard was not of cotton, but his own, natural. Grandfather shattered the valves, shaking the snow, then looked at the salon, and he also shook. “Here is yo-yo!” He shook when he saw a snowflake. Then he fixed his hat with the rear side, coughed, and said it loudly, with some strange, loose intonations.
Hi my grandchildren! With New Year! This is me, your grandfather.
The girls woke up and also looked at grandfather in all their eyes. Until one of them said surprised in response.
Good afternoon, new year! And where did you, grandfather, the three-bitch, the devil wear?
Oh my girls! My grandfather breathed, sitting in his seat. Do not even ask!
The girls with curiosity began to draw closer to the old man and sit around. And he took off his gloves, opened a half-slip on his chest, and began the story. From his disturbing story, the following became clear.

Virgos were invited to work for the New Year's Eve in some countryside or pension or sanatorium. According to the script, they should have arrived there two hours before the New Year. Before leaving, the employer suddenly called.
Girls, we are in trouble.
What happened?
Santa Claus, in short, is out of order. Could you take something with you?
Where will we take it for you? The girls were surprised.
And suddenly! Give it up! You still have Moscow. Money is good...
- Well, we will try, of course, but you understand... - the girls answered, and forgot about the strange request. Because well really, well where on the eve of the new year to find a fool who will go unknown where, even for the promised very good money. The girls drove the subway to the end, and went out to the square. There was a festive people here and there, the merchants clashed, near the entrance a tree shone with lights, and around it the joyful and careless citizens with a noisy crowd led the march. There was Santa under the tree. The real! He whispered on the bowl "a tree tree was born in the woods", periodically crawling out of a bottle and smelling another throat with an oak branch. Near his legs lay an open envelope, in which shone little things and banknotes of various dignity. The girls looked around, pushed the crowd, and surrounded the grandfather. And fifteen minutes later, he was already sitting in the embrace with a ballerina in a battle-filled rural bus.

In the warm and damn grandfather smiled, he fell asleep. When I woke up I forgot where and why I was going. He looked out the window, rattled, pushed to the exit, and at the nearest stop fell out. And only when the bus flashed the lights behind the turn, I remembered everything. But it was late. A little standing, he shrugged his hand and walked in the direction of the nearest home.

Have you been sheltered there? I asked the heart-hearted women.
Have you sheltered? Me to me? Grandfather was upset. I barely got out!! Stay and that’s all. For whatever they say, let us not let go! I have a dog alone at home. And so finally! And they fed and drank, and gave money, and with them.
Here, the grandfather pulled the bag in which it whispered, and pulled out the bottle of God.
So what, comrades? My grandfather looked at the salon. Celebrate the New Year? It was so ridiculous.
Everyone laughed and revived. In the bus was fun, plastic glasses went on hand, smelled of mandarines. And soon all who were in the bus crowded around the grandfather, choked, laughed, and wished each other good luck in the new year.

The bus rushed to the end of the subway. The city was extinct and depopulated. There was no trace of yesterday. Only orphaned shimmered the lights of the tree, and the poem was pulling off the asphalt of the fragments of the mishura. At the entrance of the subway, two police officers, a guard from the market, and a couple of citizens of unknown origin smoked.
to Fuji! The security guards whispered, watching the laughing snowballs fall out of the bus.
What have you burned up? The Santa Claus cried out to the police. Do you have a new year?
It was half an hour before the metro opened. Grandfather put the envelope under the tree, and turned the fur.

Taken with a salad olive and drunk with champagne under the throat, the city slept sweetly. And only in the subway two dozen snowmen of light behavior were swirling in the chord, singing with unstable choppy voices "Little tree is cold in winter."
“We took the tree from the forest home!” They sang to them, sinking and squeezing plastic glasses in their red hands, two duty mints, and a couple of casual passers.

And from above, from the cabin, wrapped up on the steering wheel, the driver of the strange New Year's bus watched all this with a smile.