I enter the entrance and go to the elevator. I have a box with a system block in my hands. A couple followed me, probably a guy with a girl. I get into the elevator, I’m first and they follow me. The guy sees the box in my hand and asks which floor. I am 8 and they are 14. In the end, at 8 they go out and I press the button to close the door and go on... I hear the girl starts to rust. I think this is Kaza. Stop, 14th floor, I go out, I see the door is not mine and I understand... They came out to let me go and I stole the elevator.

Xxx: One time he lived in a sloping hill in the Krasnodar, in the entrance there lived different people of significance to the country and someone joked on the stairs. Everybody wondered: how can it come to mind? They set up cameras and found out that he was one of the deputies of the city Duma. When he was told about this, he sent a nahuy, but the shit stopped. Why he did this is a mystery.

Yyy: Reverse Psychology The deputy just wanted the cameras to appear in the entrance, but the tenants were obviously against until a certain point.

Zzz: A camera installation company was a member. The Profit. or affiliated

In man the good and evil struggle, but in the official theft and patriotism.

Fascist

The clock went for about a hundred years, then I was born, my dad bought these clocks and hanged them on the wall so that they would continue to go already at our house. Ordinary such an old clock with battle, the proud inscription "PAVEL BURE" on the plate.
But suddenly, as always unexpectedly, the clock stopped and the house immediately became empty and anxious without their whistling, whistling and ringing. The room was filled with cotton silence, which occurs immediately after the silent explosion.
I, in general, had never lived without Paul Burre and it was as if my nipple had been removed from me. I wanted to start, but the pioneers didn’t cry. My dad and I removed the dead clocks from the wall and, of course, carried them to the Fascist in a tank. To whom else?
A Fascist is a cute, white-brushed uncle, a watchmaker from a cabin across the road. As soon as someone needed a key to the big, or a clever advice on the technical part, everyone immediately ran into the tank to the Fascist. It was we children who called him a Fascist, first because he was a child, secondly because he was an ethnic German, and thirdly because he wrapped his bucket with grey metal sheets. And, of course, he was not a fascist, but exactly the opposite, he was a simple, Soviet, crumbling war veteran with order planks on his jacket. (Al, at that time, almost every man under fifty and older was a frontman. It was a wonderful time.)
In his eyes, of course, we called him Uncle Robert.
Most of all, Uncle Robert loved watches, just fanatically loved them. He repaired them in German qualitatively, thoughtfully, with a half-smile and always on time. Now I am simply convinced that the Fascist was sitting in his “tank” not for the sake of money, but in order to solve another puzzle. If only one piece of the clock had been brought to him, the Fascist uncle would have looked at her through the lump and would have said with a breathtaking breath, “There is very much missing here, but I will try.” Come on Thursday, don’t worry, I’ll repair your walks.
And behold, the Fascist looked at our dead clocks, leaned to them with his ear, moved the factory key, blinked at us with a huge eye through the lobe and said strictly:

Obviously, the spring has been crossed. I crashed.

My dad and I were ashamed.

Uncle Fascist placed Paul Boure on a feather shelf, covered it with a special flanel cloth and went on more peacefully:

Come back tomorrow afternoon, I will. Three rubles will cost, money after repair.
Thank you Uncle Robert. to Goodbye.

The next day after lunch we returned to the Fascist in the tank and a very upset uncle Robert said:

- Here, this is what the matter is, everything is not as easy as I wanted. I replaced the plug, the mechanism works, of course, but not exactly as it should. It turns out, some, in the covers, the master, well buried in your clocks, his hands would be cut off. It was probably fifty years ago, even under Lenin. In short, I have to go somewhere in the days and, if I'm lucky, I'll find the right spare parts there, otherwise not. It is good yet that you came to me, the other would not even understand what is there for what, ticking and fine.
Come in a month, not sooner. I hope I get the necessary details. Don’t worry, the price will not change.

What we have left? We said – thank you, Uncle Fa-a-e-Robert. to Goodbye.

A month later the clock was really ready and the joyful Fascist announced:

Oh shit, I did it. I did not expect to have to look for your detail so hard. But I found it, just from such a mechanism. As for the springs, you need to start the clock once every two weeks at the same time and count the half-turns. It should be sixteen, or rather fifteen, then it will serve another two hundred years. Take it. You will get rid of it when you hang it on the wall.
You have 3 rubles.
If I wonder, I will tell you what was there. Your mechanism is a German, of the year of 1878 edition, a rare mechanism, and some unworked master, something from there pulled out to inject this little detail instead, it clings behind such, as would you explain, stickers, like scratches, with such hooks and they in turn... now I will draw you in detail.
So, this detail, which he inspired, will only be invented in 1907, so it should not be on your clock in any case. This is not useful - it is self-activity. This thing was invented to make the clock run more accurate. Did your clock run plus or minus half a minute a day? So is?
Well, it might even be more precise.
Well, here, and such accuracy for your mechanism can not be. But I found the original part, I returned everything back and your Pavel Bure will go exactly as it was created in the factory - it's a plus-minus two minutes a day. I put the wrong piece in your paper. Do not forget her.

We paid off with the Fascist, thanked from the heart, carefully covered the door in the tank and went home, not knowing whether to cry for us or whisper.
Since then, forty-five years have passed, the clock has changed many walls, cities and even countries, but the owners have so far remained largely the same. The clock, as it was in 1878, is not concerned about the accuracy of time. All the same unpredictably walk for one and a half minutes a day, but the main thing - they go and turn everything around into their home with their museum bell.

P.S

Today I will remember my old people who survived the war, and not only mine. I will not forget to knock through the clock glass with the Fascist. Although time has not existed for him for a long time, but let him always have the necessary details at hand.

9 May 2021

Can I leave work early today? I have a respectable reason...
What is?
Today is holiday.

Xxx: Nature has laid the way for us with flowers to the moment of association, but immediately after it, the flowers are wrapped and the hormonal-induced distortions of our perception disappear. Nature is also a fool in its own way - it is extremely economical and does not serve us with psychotropics without extreme need. Therefore, immediately after the act of love, we see with a clear glance for a few seconds all the madness of what is happening - and we understand that for some reason we are entangled in a dim story with an unclear ending, promising us a lot of money and mental torments, the only reward for which is this just ended seizure, not even having anything to do with us personally, but connected exclusively with the ancient mechanism of the reproduction of protein bodies...

The further away from Victory Day, the more enemies are at our borders.

“For the removal of the wounded from the battlefield.”

Flight from Moscow to Vladivostok / South Sakhalinsk / Magadan / Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky takes 7.5 - 9 hours.
The whole flight is not always sleepy)), I usually work or watch movies.
During the last flight watched "Dear Comrades" with the magnificent Yulia Vysotskaya in the main role.
The film is about the events of 1962 in Novocherkassk, but it is not about it. According to the film, the main heroine was on the front, a carrier, a sanitary, wounded from the battlefield pulled out.
In this regard, I recalled

In 1983, after the fifth course of the medical institute, we had military fees. Every year, our university, 250 people from all faculties, were sent to the Volga steppes, to some division. According to the six-year-olds, there were "thousands of students, the sun is burning, in a tank with a compot can be put a straw, the humidity is high, any scratch begins to purify, worse than a month does not happen."
And then we, our base, were transferred to Chelyabinsk, to another division.
But something didn't work out, someone in the division didn't have time to prepare something and we were just taken to the Basque-Ural forests, alone. (The next year and then our university was already driving under Chelyabinsk).

Apartment owners put up floating tents, a barbecue for the kitchen, a barbecue for the dining room, a mushroom for the clock.
We came, dressed up, and ate dinner. Our students cooked, not a restaurant, but definitely better than the university dining room, and the addition has always been.
In the morning, sweaters, boots, pants, topless - running and loading. Breakfast and practical activities. After lunch, every day, all the charges are rain, which means an afternoon honest sleep. The sun was before dinner. After dinner and washing a personal boiler, cups, tablespoons in the nearest stream - football. somehow so.

The class.

Theory, OTC - organization and tactics of medical services.
For example:
You have 5 wounded on the field, you can bind 2. Who will you bind and whom will you leave? Why is?
There are 50 wounded in the hospital. Operate, before the emergency arrives, and you can save 5 people. How will you sort them? Why is? Who will you operate and who will you let die? Why is?
and so on.

The Practice.
For a couple of days to warm up, we linked each other different limbs and other places, made artificial breathing, dragged on supports from one corner of the field to the other. Hot but fun.
Two days later, the barracks were dug. (Well, the doctors are going to dig roofs???) Teachers specifically found a field of pure clay.
And then they began to "bring out the wounded from the battlefield" - we were broken into pairs and one joyfully collapsed in the sun, and the other must pull him to the barracks.
Our teacher major turned out to be an "Afghan": it was worth to raise your head while you slide to your "injured", as a major quietly so shoe your boots on the back of the neck - a slide! “You’re killed, pull up again.” It was worth kicking your ass up - on the four is faster and more convenient to move - you immediately on your ass with your heels from above - boom! “You are injured in your ass and you haven’t saved the wounded, start again.”
I then weighed about 75 kilograms, 182 heights, sports, not a puppy, but another bag of cement or a large bag of potatoes put on my shoulder and a quick step up the stairs or similar in a cargo car on the next shabash, and here a fellow student, some 60 kilograms of living weight together with boots and a machine - yes, I will now take him out of the "fighting field"!
Fuck it there.
A relaxed person weighs as much as one and a half times more, but he still needs to be bound, rolled over on a coat and dragged with a wool on the grass. I could not even imagine such a force of friction.
You will move a few centimeters for twenty, you will bend up with the letter zhu, so that the major will not get a booth on the shirt, you will knock the corner of the coat - and no shit, he does not move, shit. Rings, 5-10 centimeters, you will pull it up and again forward for 20 centimeters... to the rocks nearby, meters 7-8, the sun is hot, and in a couple of meters you are nothing but those centimeters do not consider.
But the full writer came to the exercise "evacuation of the wounded from the battlefield on himself."
First to supplement. Then somehow this unbearable begemot crash on your back. And how? I lie on my stomach, he lies on his back, stands, fucking, for an entourage, well, how can I pull him on my back?? to
Okay, somehow pulled, with the third or fourth attempt, the major watches that you don't get stuck, and that the "injured" doesn't help you.
And here I remembered Vysotsky - "we pull the earth with our teeth behind the stems, on ourselves, under ourselves, from ourselves."
You only weigh 60 kilograms, but if you press the whole surface of your body to the ground, you can’t move. at all. You have to stick to something and move forward.
Why to cling? For the grass. She cuts and cuts her fingers. After a few minutes of "climbing on the spot" and a couple of weak pinks from the major "do not sleep, the companion with blood runs out, now your shaking ass will be discovered by the enemy and shoot it" you, breaking your nails, shake the ground in an attempt to get stuck somehow and literally cling to the grass with your teeth so that you can at least a little stretch.

This is study. The peaceful sky. No one is shooting. You are a healthy guy. Around the "stones" of the wounded mixed with the mat and the hook.
Just an idyll.

As the girls-saninstructors tricked to pull on themselves under bullets and fragments of adult men...
How many lives have been saved.

A low tribute and eternal memory to all sanitary instructors and nurses.
You are heroes.

- Rabinovich, what do you think about people sticking on their cars the inscription "we can repeat"?
Young man, be realistic. 90% of the stickers, however, can only repeat their stick.

Unchangeable power is unchangeable power.

On the eve of the great (without exaggeration, especially for the residents of the post-Soviet space) holiday, one thought struck my head. If I go back, at least in the early 1990s, when my grandfather-veteran led me to Victory Square as a child, I clearly remember how when I saw my little one (and not only me, but the other grandchildren brought with them by grandfathers), the veterans, as an order, said one phrase, the meaning of which is: "We fought for you to live in peace, and it is better for you not to know what we experienced and never to repeat." But as I grew up, I saw that the veterans became less and less, but the message of the remaining was unchanged. And now, when I see citizens who “can repeat,” I have this thought: it is a pity that these “repetitions” cannot be thrown there, in the 90s, when there were many veterans and many were not yet seventy. Oh, I would look at them! I think that the preventive conversation with the harsh participants, instantly returned the thoughts in the right direction. Without hands, these people were able to pick up harsh words to scare and cause shame in the "repeaters" at the same time.

The idea of punishing the people of the country for lack of money is literally carried out in the air.

At night, a drunk man went for cigarettes and disappeared. Called friends, hospitals, police, morgi. No one saw. In horror it seemed that he was killed lying in the bushes. Then panic - how can I be alone with two children? Well, okay, I sell the car, I give away the second apartment, I exchange my own for two and I also give away, plus a pension for the loss of a feeder... And everything was so well planned that when he returned after three hours alive, I even got a little upset...

Previously I thought: how people lived at thirty-seven, did they not notice anything? Now I know how.

I went for a visa to the British Embassy. There was a crowd of people who were rejected for various reasons. I go to the interview window. In English, the charming lady, looking with English kindness, pressing her lips, asked, "Do you speak English?" I shrugged my shoulders and said, “Sometimes.” Widely opened eyes, then rust - and a visa.

In short, he went into the woods, gathered mushrooms, gathered a calf, sat down for a couple of years. I went out, and I’ve got my puppets in the yard. He left for life.

Xxx: Well, I’m 27 and I’ve never fucked at all, all my knowledge is pure theory and a mushroom on my palm. And the only advice from a friend is to feel.

Yyy: When I read this, I want to be a good fool and give good boys to virgins, lol

Zzz: God bless you

Despite the unwelcome attitude of many countries, we will still build a gas pipeline and defend our right to be a raw material appendix of Europe!

Non-trivial meth

I bought self-tapping wallpapers. I sit. I wait.