We stretch with a colleague on the old office building from the 7th to the 1st floor. The shields of the weak point, stuck in death, at the level of the sex. I stand on the tracks, we talk to a colleague between the floors through the pipes in the ladders, he pushes, I pull. It sounds bad, so occasionally I scream - Go to the neighborhood! Stand up! and push! and etc.
Aunt comes and asks:
Sorry, with whom are you talking? Is this a new type of communication?
I’m talking to an imaginary friend, don’t bother me.