I went to the shop for kefir. Time – without three or two minutes, eleven. A drinking-looking man sits in front of the shelf with alcohol, looking for the vodka he needs. He catches the demanded half-liter, rushes to a row of bottles with collie, convulsively pulls out of it a pepsi 0.33 and makes the last rush to the box office. I don't know if there was anyone in front of him or the box was free, but after taking the kefir and coming to pay for it, I see a happy man, who in his whole voice, dispersing in the kindness of the cashier, hides behind the door, waving a bottle of pepsi. We and the cashier simultaneously look at the part of the shelf where the already broken goods are placed - there alone a bottle of vodka flashes. A friendly whistle is spread and the cashier cries in the aftermath of the departing: "Comrade! And vodka, maybe you will still take it?" A pleasant drinking out of the door: "What?" "Wodka you will take?" The face is stretched out, for a second on it interchange the misunderstanding, fear, awareness of the situation and the joy of being found again. “I’ll take it!” a man cries, sneezes to the box, takes a bottle and gently looks at it. It seemed now he would say to her: "My beauty"))