I go downstairs, I go home. A black cat comes down to me. Such a beautiful man! powerful, large, with a thick, overflowing in the light of a dull entrance lamp wool. Pulling his head up, he looks at me with green eyes. And somehow high, I even felt like it was me thirty centimeters from the floor, not him. The door of the neighboring apartment opens, a girl of mediocre appearance comes out. With ordinary negligence, he takes him in his hands and says to him:
Go to home.
I am her:
What a beautiful man! Their own?
She is:
No to the street. The name is Pizzo.

The curtain.