I sit in the office and I don’t touch anyone. The phone call, lady



How much does the court cost you?

Which court?

by the child.

What about the child? Alimentation, the procedure for communication, deprivation of parental rights?

You are some stupid! I called you in one of the offices and I was immediately told: 80,000 r!

Well, let’s have 75 000R!

Why so expensive?

What did you answer in the previous office?

They said it was expensive because it was a child.

Well here! It is expensive because it is a child.

Could it be cheaper?

Describe the situation in more detail!

How incomprehensible you are! trial of the child.

Oh I understood! The case is really difficult, we also have 80,000 r.



He dropped the phone.

The lake is deserved.

Strange people, these people.
They stumble on their important and not very affairs, meet-disappear, get acquainted-fight... Sometimes a temporary acquaintance grows into friendship, and sometimes they turn into enemies in the same place... Sometimes such changes take years, and sometimes seconds decide a lot...
And from the simplest cases, when "they are only two", to collectives of various shapes, compositions and sizes...

The electric car dropped its fast country run and began to move solidly from station to station. A familiar situation for many, when the electric train crosses the city line and is soon final, but there are a few stops before it.
In the Tambour, waiting for a suitable station, one of these groups of completely unfamiliar people was formed:
The grandfather is rural, not tall. Despite its years, it is quite strong, such as they still say - residential. Barbed/washed, in a clean but not smooth suit. Probably since the morning I have already missed a glass, and maybe not one, the smell is. But those who drank it to name my tongue would not turn, such a good grandfather, shining of happiness, apparently thanks, and despite the early hour...
- A couple of girls, apparently PTU-shnits (sorry, maybe college girls at present). The clothes are quite challenging - and the top is not a pattern of chastity, and the bottom is short. Hairstyles and aggressive makeup match the overall image. Through the intersection of the wheels, they seem to know much more in their years than they should. sharp on the tongue, slightly chubby, procrastinated voices.
A middle-aged woman is called a “grey mouse.” I’t have paid any attention if it hadn’t been her look, even slightly silenced by the lenses of her glasses. Add a strict style of clothing and a way to stick...I would say that this is a teacher.
The body is stronger than the average. Not sleepy, hair and clothes are not the model for an effective manager. The mood is also not very - obviously something was that I had to go from nature to the dull jungle in such a morning... stood for myself, did not touch anyone, contemplated the surroundings...
There were a few others, but let me call them spectators.

Initially, the disposition was about this: the grandfather quickly got his brave mood with quotes about the moral foundations of his youth, as well as the teacher in an attempt to attract her as a world judge. The teacher did not approve of the morning smell from the grandfather, nor the shape of clothes/makeup/theme of conversations of the PTU-shnits. And the girls because of the peculiarities of age/education were against all who were not with them... I didn’t want to spoil the still relatively peaceful situation with possible sounds at elevated tones in connection with the every second deepening contradictions, so I pulled away my grandfather from talking about philosophical topics. He found a grateful listener in my face and a fragile ceasefire was restored in the tambour.

The truce, however, did not last long. It floated in the tambour. This creature was female, it is unclear by what winds it was taken into public transportation. In that, not a simple age, when attractiveness and associated preferences are already decreasing, and self-esteem still continues to grow at a stormy rate.
The first came to the grandfather: "In her house it is not customary to chew even gardeners from the morning."
Then to the PTU girls: "the age has not yet come out, and already prostitutes, which in itself is simply unthinkable in her house."
Then the teacher said, “Such a disgusting perfume in her house is forbidden to use even in the toilet.”
Then it went around, to the indifferent spectators so far...
Madam, due to high, but specific qualifications, in a few seconds of her stay in the tambour, managed to unite a diverse people, previously partially dispersed by contradictions, and partially indifferent to everything, into a collective that had a common goal. A deceitful silence.
Events were unfolding at an increasingly rapid pace. The people were still thinking about adequate countermeasures, when a full-fledged middle-aged man entered the tamper, stuck with his nose in some gadget. Judging by the thickness of the glasses, the man has a strong myopia. He did not pay much attention to the surrounding reality, and from the proximity of the gadget to the nose, he seemed to be touched. Whether he really came to her feet, or whether such a possibility was purely theoretical, remained unclear within this story.

“Well, I’m in my house, I’m beaten up in the middle of the white day!!!” - the silence went into a whisper, and the man, who had not yet entered, had already been involved in our fun tamper intercom. He had not yet realized that he was accused of something, and Madame had already triumphantly regarded me, the hairy boy, as a defender of the offended honor.
The troubled boy, inspired by his, then my gaze, apparently decided that there is no point in postponing further. He straightened his shoulders, fixed his scratched hair and said to the offender with a terrible tone: "Man, you have a problem!“”
The man, somewhat frightened, looked at him from behind his thick glasses: "What happened?" Apparently he suggested in a harsh tone that they would be beating, but for what he did not understand. The guy terribly continued: "Man, the lady openly tells you that no one is shouting at her house!!! Do you mean that doesn’t mean anything to you?“”

After a fraction of a second pause, the grandfather laughed, then flew to the offender man and took the PTU-shnits in their hands: "Well, what, she is so terrible? They want a little female happiness too. You are a good man, and so on.” The man immediately covered with steam (and how do you think when they take their hands and slightly press them to themselves two cute young creatures, although not quite corresponding to the moral appearance of the builders of communism). But he found strength in himself and lifted up one of the virgins in the air and showed the whole tambour the engagement ring on the nameless finger: "I am married!"He breathed out of himself, not even understandably with pride or regret.
However, the teacher did not let him take advantage of this ghostly chance: "Man, the woman's problem is apparently so aggravated that she is forced to turn to you, even despite the presence of people in the tambour. Is it not in your power to help a man who has been able to cross through...
Finish the phrase didn't work out - until madam came to know that it was all about her! The face took the combat color of the beetle, the roar of the wounded beluga about the upcoming punishments for our tambour broke out of the throat, and with the dexterity of a very frightened rhinoceros she jumped back into the car and began to lay a path for herself somewhere there, in the invisible for us given.
The point was placed by the grandfather, shaking the man's hand on his shoulder, the second pointing to the back that was moving away: "Look, look, and yours went, went... I was upset with the dick... Find out soon what people will think!"

Through the natural disaster that broke through the wagon, the people could not understand the reason for the cheerful laughter of our suddenly so friendly tambour.
At the beginning of the story, the boy smiled. A short-sighted man, forced and unexpectedly played for himself not the last role, finally understood everything and laughed. The spectators knocked in the palms, and strangers, the main characters of this story that unexpectedly united, looked at each other with fun and no longer curled from the light smell of alcohol from the grandfather, nor from the fairly loose shape of the clothes of the PTU-shnits, nor from the strict look of the teacher.
Even for a short time, but they were a great team.

Calls Lavrov Shoigu after the President’s address to the Federal Assembly and says:
“Listen, Kozhugetovich, don’t worry about New York, I have a daughter there.
Shoigu answered:
Yes I know. Fursenko also called for the United States. Mizulina asked for Belgium not to beat, Zhirinovsky for Switzerland, and Zheleznyak for London. Others of us called, the list is really big... Listen, Lavrov, where to hit then in case of what?
Dolls in Novgorod.
Why in Novgorod?
We have two of them.

When the trees were big, and I was going to the kindergarten, the teacher instructed us to bring a box with buttons from the house, said we will learn to sew. Mother selected for this case a "chestnut" from under the cookies and collected the most beautiful bottles that were in the house, of different shapes and sizes, and among them there was no one like the others.

The next day we were given cats mouths of fabric, and we had to sew their eyes and nose to them. I was distracted, but I didn’t have two identical buttons to make my eyes. But the teacher said that nothing terrible, the receptions are different. It is said - done, the eyes are sewn, the best nose is chosen. And then the educator says, "If someone wants, give their kittens and I'll come to them bats," of course, everyone immediately set up in a row, but when it came to me, she is like this: "Listen, your bats don't need, he has one eye broken, which means he's street, and where does the street cat have bats? » As I cried, I didn’t think my cat was street, it seemed to me the most beautiful. In general, I took my cat home, and I gave him a rough band, thereby restoring justice.

I ordered a pizza at 2 p.m. I want to eat very much, but there is no pizza and no... I call back and find out that my order is lost! I express my great dissatisfaction with aggression. I refuse to order, throw the phone and order at another pizzeria.

5 minutes ago (4: 18) I open the door to the courier, and there are two of them in different caps ))

The first courier gives me two pizzas (presents) and a note - "We are obliged to feed you."

The second courier with the pizza I ordered from the competitors...

I wonder what they talked about in the tambour.



In short, I sit like a ninja turtle with three pizzas.

I remember when I was a child, it was the early 90s, I was 7, my mom took me to the market. Who remembers those times, in addition to having problems with money, there were still huge queues for almost everything. I approach the turn for the sausage, my mom gives me the money for 400 grams of sausage, and she clearly makes the calculation. She goes for some other goods, says, until the turn comes I will return. It went wrong. My turn has come, I say 400 grams of this sausage, the seller cuts off, lies on the weights of 480 grams - I say

I have 400 grams in calculation.

Seller - You're shaking my head, I'm on my turn

It’s not my fault that you can’t measure a piece of sausage accurately.

Oh, how smart you are, figured you, not the sausage. Behind me in the queue stood an uncle, saying, I will take this piece, and cut it off to him. It cuts 360 grams. Uncle says, you see whether you have problems with your eyes or your hands, and you are on the boy. The seller turned red, began to whisper - a man you allow yourself to go on in this spirit. I took the sausage and gave it, and went to the side. The seller waited a long time.

What is a DDoS attack?

This is when 100,000 people think of you at the same time and you die from hiccups.

Yyy: When in the route all passengers with 500 rubles.

zzz: What the passengers are chernalyon, and all of these five hundred are cheating on you. The pockets are fast clogged, passengers continue to throw banknotes where they should not throw them. In the end, you die from excess paper in the body.

The shit with ambitions not only does not sink, it is straight - flows over the water.

Once, my cousin and I had a real New Year.

Somewhere in Peter’s backyard, on the eve of the New Year... Our mothers wavered in the kitchen, and Lenka and I wanted a holiday. I then studied in the university, worked as a tutor, there was little money, but I was already working. I offered to buy candy and mandarins and stick gifts, as was previously issued on the Yelke. Well, with this wealth to get around my kids, those I taught English.

They went to the store and to the market. I remember that my money was not enough, and Lenka dropped on mandarin, like saved from school lunches, he was still small... I remember that he asked for gift packaging bags in the market from a candy seller. The money was in the hook, we all dropped down to a penny for candy. The bags were needed, I was embarrassed to ask, and Lenka could. He was very proud of his prey. He was shaken by pride.

In front of our eyes still stands the picture of how we have all our wealth beautifully disposed on the couch: candy of different sizes and varieties, in brilliant fantasy. Then we packed it all equally in bags and wrapped it in colored paper. When the paper was finished, the posters with Leonardo DiCaprio went to work. That was the end of my love for Titanic.

Mothers found us surrounded by our bags, mandarins, sweets, and said it was stupid to give out so much delicious. They suggested that sweets could be put on the table. Silently, with our eyes, we showed the abyss that divided us – we had a celebration, and they had an olive.

Then we were three, and a little boy from my house came in behind us, walked around all the children and congratulated us. No one was waiting for us, we were all happy. We walked the snowy streets from house to house as drunk, feeling like Santa Claus and singing Jingle Bells out loud. I don't remember why it was Jingle Bells, we only knew three or four lines. This is the only song we sang many times in a row.

At the end, there was one gift left... on the street, 3 hours before the New Year, some dad dragged his son home on his saucers. We caught them, asked if his son believed in Santa Claus – and when we received a positive answer, we gave the last gift. We returned home happy.

The ancient people. The leader summoned the tribe.
My people, from now on for hunting and gathering in our forests, for fishing and swimming in our rivers and lakes, for your good will be paid. Half of the fees I will take as a reward for the care of the tribe, the other half I will pay to the warriors who will beat those who will not pay for the good of our tribe!

I recently drove a car on the highway that passes past the cemetery. I see - a traffic jamming is formed directly in a flat place, due to the fact that the lighting is often turned on with a pedestrian passage "On demand". But no one passes. I watched - an old grandmother sits at the transition, shops flowers, and is bored to knock on the button. And we are all wondering where the hooligans come from.

It is observed that if a man wants God to help you, then he himself is not clearly going to help.

The old is already a story, and my grandfather died in 2010, the land was loose to him, and I want to share how I recorded it a year before his death, in 2009.

On February 6, 2009, my grandfather turned 94. He still lived in Kazan, hardly walked, and saw very poorly. I didn’t talk to him on the phone often — he couldn’t hold the phone himself, yet he got this damn Parkinson’s disease. When I was very missing, I asked my mom to hold the phone at his ear. Then he and I talked a few words. And talking to him was not difficult - his grandfather's mind was still clear, and his sense of humor did not disappear.

He was born in 1915 in Odessa, and spent his childhood in the Nude Port in the house of his father, Peter Timofeevich Sidorov, the chief manager of the Masandrov wine basements of His Imperial Majesty.

My grandfather saw a lot in his life. And the mother killed by the Red Army, in that unfortunate night of 1927, when they came to their soul, and Peter Timofeevich, my great-grandfather, was shot, and left with the governor and teenager-grandfather in the fortunately frozen Dnieper. My grandmother, my grandmother, Maria Kremli-Sidorova, unfortunately, did not survive that attack. Then the grandfather and grandfather had Tashkent, typhoid (the grandfather was sick twice), then a lot more, and finally Kazan.

His grandfather was a master of his business, a winer of the highest class, so I am not surprised that he was not arrested, not shot, but appointed director of the Kazan wine factory. The NKVD shakes them, indeed, regularly, but always without reason. My grandfather did not come from that service to the new post to start stealing.

And his grandfather finished the rabbfak, and, working as a slugsman, entered the KAI, already having the crusts of the master of the 7th division. He was talented, a mechanic from God, although selected. Grandma then often called it a millimeter, although in my opinion, a micron would be more correct. He studied in KAI just before the beginning of the war.

On June 30, 1941, he married my grandmother, Yevgeny Yakovlevna Majorova, then a student of Kazan financial and economic (we call this institution in Kazan a "café"), and immediately from the wedding went to do first Katyusi, and then aircraft-strike on Kazan aircraft. Twice escaped from the factory, wanted to get to the front - returned. The 7th grade is not a joke.

In 1943 my mother was born, and in 45 the war ended. Grandfather enrolled in postgraduate studies, defended himself, and eventually became an associate professor at the Department of Aerodynamics in his Alma Mater. This very aerodynamics was long later called by the students sidodynamics. Students had reasons for that.

And here in Kazan, already in adulthood, far beyond thirty, my grandfather grabbed the passion. No, not what you thought. He stopped smoking at the age of 25, when he felt that he was drawn, he treated guilt all his life as a delicacy, although all branded wines were unmistakably recognized from the first swallow. I brought him, already as a postgraduate student in Prague, somehow from Hungary, from some cellar, his native Masandrovsky muscat white red stone. I recognized my grandfather’s wine, without even trying, by the smell. Although it was sold under this name in Russia at the time, it was scorned in black. And still would. The vineyard under this mustard, for my grandfather’s grandfather, Matthew, began in the Crimea, and did my grandfather not know how the mustard should smell? What and how my grandfather with women was - I don't know, don't ask, so about the passion I write about completely different.

My grandfather sat on the mushrooms. Specifically, for a quiet mushroom hunt. And so sat down that until the very end, as long as he could walk, he did not give up his passion.

Grandfather to mushrooms a peculiar attitude has always been: for him there were only four worthy breeds - white, bushes, loads, and rubies. It was only at the beginning of June that he drove us all to the shores - until the white one had to wait, and the mushrooms he always wanted to collect, and the long winter stunned him so that it hardly seemed.

All his mushroom places the grandfather gave names: Snake hills (there he argued with a straw for the pineapple), the first, the second, the third Grive (I have no idea why he called these places so, it was all the shores of the shore), a lion hill (a separate story, don't believe it, but there to my grandmother the lion jumped out, and licked with her. It was his employees of the Kazan Zoo who took him out into the wild, and he, the pig, went away. The common name is Cordon. (We were near the dacha some cordon at some time, so the name was fixed).

My grandfather taught me to collect mushrooms at an age when I didn’t have anything to say, I didn’t know how to walk. Our regime was strict. Before the "frog" to get up was necessary to get to the first place before the sunrise. Why so? I won’t tell you exactly, but my grandfather always stood firm. And then you swing 20-30 kilometers with him, all over the place, and you drag a basket with what you gathered, you drag on yourself. Do you think it hard? No to Figo! Yes, I would struggle immediately, ask me who will carry this basket for me. The mine! I found it! Do not touch!

Here we went to this snake hill before dawn. This place is in the pine pine pine - it is very beautiful there, well, yes to me, the five-year-old carapuz did not care about the crust at the time. I came here to look for mushrooms. Grandfather fled immediately to his places, and Grandma-Jenna stayed with me, of course. Here we went with her, in front of us. She told me fairy tales, and by the way, the exercises in mathematics stressed me, and I turned in all directions. Then he turned, and suddenly stumbled. Because I saw a huge, luxurious beetle. Woooot thataaki!!!! And frozen in place. My grandmother hadn’t noticed it at first, she felt like I stopped, and I was pulled by the hand – and I’m all standing, my mouth shaking. She looked too. It was difficult not to notice, it was a fungus, and not an old one, by the way, not a pineapple - but a dream of mushrooms. have arrived. Grandmother sat down, and I started jumping, shouting, "The mushroom found, the mushroom found!" I don’t even remember when I was so happy.

My grandfather and I met in two hours. He collected something, of course. But when he saw my champion, only his hands shaken. I was so proud! ?

Upon returning all the white we usually dried over the plate for the winter, cutting them into slices. But apparently I looked at my beautiful borovik so much that my grandfather made an exception for him. We dried it entirely. And then I took this dried mushroom to my kindergarten, and to all of us, the whole little girl from my group, our kindergarten cook made a soup out of it.

I have tried many different types of mushrooms, but I still remember the taste of that soup.

Yes the most important. The last time I spoke with my grandfather, he asked me, “Do you remember that shrimp on the Snake Hill?” I immediately understood what he was talking about. “Yes,” I say, “and what?” Grandfather responded with a delay, his hand was trembling. The shit is Parkinson’s disease, though. But then he gathered and suddenly asked, “If you come, take me there, right? Suddenly, there was another such beetle grown there?”

You say that our people are uncultural. Meanwhile, more and more letters come to the editorial office of the First Channel with the question of when they will finally show "The Swan Lake". I missed the classics.

Not all is so bad in cinema. For example, I can’t remember a porn film with a bad ending.

There is a platform Tarasovskaya on the Yaroslavl Railway. It is about her Koval in the Adventure of Vas Kurolesov phrase: "Remember! Jod from Tarasovka! Except for Yoda from Tarasovka and the Moscow Spartak. He has a football base there since the last century. And fans, in the sense, fans. In the second half of the 1970s these fans-supporters Spartacus did not have a lot of them, then no team had a lot of them, but in the electric car after the match with them it is better not to drive. The electricity with them is better to miss, let them hurt themselves there. If you are one or two, not fifty.

The glasses were beaten, the bars were spoiled, sometimes the rare people were rolled. The police were afraid, but not very much. I hoped to hit because it was stupid. For the same reason, that is, the foolishness of two young people, absolutely not football fans, sat in such an electric wheel in Mytices. They went to the Builder for evening training. in the Karate section. The Spartans are bustling.

You are a karate, or a boxing aikido, and if you get into such a cataclysm, where opponents are 100 times more than you, then it is better to leave the conflict, or disguise yourself. The best fight is the one that has been avoided. No, the situations are different. In some cases the opposite. Protecting someone. The homeland, for example. for the girl. Moving the old woman across the road. But this is not the situation.

In addition to friends in the car, only fans. The guys were masquerading in the corner and waiting position. Conversations are listening. And in the conversations, it sounds like this whole gang in the Builder is coming out, someone is going to "load". After hearing such a matter, friends, quickly to the exit, so that this exit in the Builder to lead, slander and silently fuse into a familiar tin. They stood up at the door first. Behind the people are also gathering, the Spartak champion is scandering and something else about the dynamo is bad. Dynamo is shit, and Spartak is a champion.

electricity to the builder. Our karaoke gathered with the spirit, in the sense, air in the chest and with the scream "Dynamo - shit, Spartak - champion" on the platform flew out.

One of them. Because no one came out after them. Major on the platform. Right in front of them. And thirty-three police officers, as in a fairy tale, in addition.

Here, he says, as in the message: they beat in the electric car, beat the glasses, clinged to the passengers, in the Builder were going out. Dynamo is shit, and Spartacus is a champion. And in the chest.

Thus, the local department of the militia met with their new instructors-trainers in handball combat.

Here you are going to go to Finland for PMJ. Don’t you feel like you’re a second-class person?
is terrible. I want to feel like a man.

The weapon for duellists in Russia of the 21st century is shit.

I want to tell you about my first daughter.

A brilliant woman, a pediatrician. Assistant at the Department of Child Diseases. “Doctor from God.” Everyone whose children were treated with her remained grateful. The candy and flowers were just sweetened.

In addition to experience, she had a passionate desire to learn new things, they read special medical literature and studied for a lifetime.

The father-in-law, like the first wife, was a gift to me, a former worker. I, a lover and fan of rock, went to the opera for the first time and discovered its charm. I was practically taught about culture. I am very grateful to my first mother-in-law for all this effort.

Interesting things started at the wedding. What a wedding could have been in 1982, when my aunt was a doctor, my parents were working. Everything is very modest. They celebrated in the apartment, invited a person 25-30 closest relatives and friends. My ancestors demanded a battalion. It was the strength of the older generation. It didn’t work, I invited only my aunt with the acordeon.

He had friends, a family of opera singers. The head of the family, Gleb, was the first bass in our regional opera. Great man, big, thick and very kind. He even went to La Scala for an internship.

The wedding began and went on. They drank, ate, shouted “bitterly”, again drank. Then the songs went under the accordeon. Nothing predicted surprises. And here the maid asks Gleb to sing. He refuses almost categorically - the type I did not drink, the room is small, etc. I don’t know how, but she convinced him. Gleb stood up and sounded like a thunderstorm with the bass “Under the St. Petersburg”. He was sitting in front of us, young people. His wife, also a singer in the opera, sang, the acordeonist tried to play. But I did not hear anything or anyone else but him. How we didn’t break the buttocks, I don’t even know. Even the glasses in the windows trembled. The impression was that no words of the type of “foolish” would be able to convey it. And the applause. very beautiful. Thank you very much, it will remain in my memory for a lifetime.

The next day, everyone in the courtyard asked, “What did you have there?”

In 1983, we had a daughter, and in 1984, they wanted to rest - they ran south. And the mother-in-law stayed with the little child while we were “resting.” He had relatives in the south. When we passed by, we went to one of her relatives – I tried wildlife there for the first time. The oldest was a hunter and they had a crab. It is not comparable to any pork.

Then we moved to Juba, where other relatives lived. They had an apartment and, in addition, a house on the coast, which was rented, rooms. They gave us a room there. 300 meters to the sea. They lived for their pleasure - swimming, sunbathing, even riding with relatives on a shale and after a hive somewhere in the mountains. It is called Aikido. Kizila was also picked up. I have never eaten cheesecake again in my life.

There was a funny incident too. One (or maybe two, I don’t remember) room was taken by a family of Azerbaijanis. Ahmed, the head of the family, wife and six or seven children, was younger. Comfort on the street and on all filmers. A little annoyed the Muslim custom of not using paper, but only water and sand. Especially a lot of children. No matter how you go to the toilet - there is almost no dirt, everything is flooded, there is always a possibility to slip and fall. Even though the sand helped a little)))

But this is all nonsense, small household inconvenience, to which everyone closed their eyes. Ahmed was constantly missing in the market. I don’t know who he was there, but it doesn’t seem to be the last person. When we gathered for the shale, we came to the market and found Ahmed. He took us to the meat seller and told him something in Azerbaijani. Even our relatives were amazed and said that such meat to buy in the market is simply impossible.

And then one day, closer to the evening, something happened to one of Ahmed's children, whether he was poisoned or just a flu, I don't know. At home he was not, his wife in Russian is not a boom boom, runs, cries, and nobody understands anything. We try to explain to her that you need to call an ambulance, even by gestures, and she in response - no, no. Without a husband. I ran to the market to look for Ahmed, the good was not far away. Running, grabbed the first Caucasian hit by the chest – where is Ahmet? He immediately showed. He explained the situation to Ahmed and went home with him. He called the ambulance, the child was taken and healed later.

The next day we went out to the yard, where the table was large. At the table are Ahmed and another Azerbaijani. “Jura,” said Ahmet, “sit with us.” I sat down. On the table appeared 2 bottles of good vodka and still stood a plate with some salad or snack, I don't know.

You helped me, I should at least serve you. Sit down and drink with us.

“You have nothing to eat,” I smiled.

Oh you are wrong. This is the best breakfast, and I showed it on the plate.

I don't know what it was, something terribly spicy, but after this snack you forget that you drank vodka. I want to breathe fire and pour water into that fire.

We normally made friends with him, although I was 23, and he was 40, maybe more.

At any resort there is a multinational and multi-religious company, which is not surprising. And sometimes even the Armenians asked me, “Why are you friends with Azer? He is a Muslim.” And I didn’t care, then the brotherhood of all peoples was at the head of the corner.

We returned, rested, burned and satisfied. The mother-in-law was a shadow.

She turned out to have a deep hunger. Of course, the doctor could not just get into this. She studied all the necessary literature, the processes of entry and exit from this hunger strike. Everything went well (not everyone has it). He even cured some of his chronic diseases.

But when we came back, we were very ashamed. After all, they actually abandoned a small child to a man who went on such a terrible thing. She endured everything. She took care of the child and took herself out of mortal danger.

Most interestingly, she then wrote several articles in medical journals and became a recognised nutritionist in the city. Respect the entire medical community. Just because she did it all on herself, not whispered just like that.

I still respect her, she’s 80 this year. Thank you Alevina Ivanovna. Long years of life and health.