When I was a kid, my father had a friend whom everyone called Monika. I asked my father for a long time the question, “Why is Monika?” and he replied, “Well, because Monika, how can I call him?” One day we went fishing, and this "Monki" had a hollow, stolen from work gasoline, which he decided to share. And here I sit in the car, I look out the window, the men are standing on the street - smoking, Monika fills gasoline in the tank of the car, and I hear about this dialogue:
and men.
What is?
Bring me a cigarette.
It turns out that this monk smoked and poured gasoline, and only in the middle of the canister came to him that something was wrong.
I no longer asked the question "Why Monika?".