I remember when we lived in a student dormitory, we often did something with each other. There was no money, we took food. I once borrowed 15 frozen peelings to eat with a neighbor. And when he bought pelletry for himself, cooked it, ate it, he didn't calculate something, and only fourteen pieces remained. I took off his debt and added two bulbs for the missing peel. The neighbor was not against. A couple of months later, the frozen peelmen was exchanged for two bulbs throughout the community and this course continued to live for many years))) I introduced a new conversion of student currencies - peelmen/two bulbs

I came to social protection, to obtain a one-time child benefit.

Officer (having collected documents in a folder and going to leave):

A certificate that hasn’t been received before?

No original, I can show the photo on the phone.

I need to bring back the original.

- so there was no such item on the mosra, I collected all the documents on the list from the site

You need a certificate, bring the original.

Then I lost her. She is not. You know, the birth of a child, there and here and... lost

(with a small pause)

The official, taking the documents: "Okay, we will check on the base"

The winner is Nikolay!

xxx: My husband told me how in one of the large companies where he worked at the time, someone joked on the closed toilet cover!

YYY: The tester most likely

Over the years, even the wife is tired of talking about the president.

A strange picture was seen days on the road of the glorious city of N.
I am going the road to the north. The track is like a track - two lanes in each direction, a wide separator with barriers.
I drive in the left row with a lawful speed of 79 km / h, because the city line and chambers there are like mushrooms in the forest. We generally have that rich, with cameras, in Moscow and less. In the right row, respectively, are those who understand the PDD too literally - at a speed of 59 km / h. Well, the usual picture for our places - cameras more or less all learned to drive without excessive pathos. There are exceptions, of course.
Here is such an exception to the white mordor-six me catches kilometers by a hundred per hour and the rise of xenon in the mirrors - a mordor! The Bip-Bip is Bip! Well, I'm not sorry, maybe a person has fallen asleep, afraid of not having time to push. Diarrhea is a terrible thing... Morded the turn, went to the right, missed, returned. I thought again - this is not a pity for a man's desire for money! He just sent a letter for at least 500 rubles, and this is not the last camera on the road.
Here behind the second is the same, on the grey passat-s, - also a mirge-myrge and a bip and a hundred km / h. And I do not regret it, again, the city budget will be fined. Maybe the bench will be painted at his expense in the park, or the urn will be placed. I missed, I go further in the right. And in front of the transition, the sign 40 and the camera above it. There is underground right now, but upstairs and a sign. and camera.
Everyone runs 49 km / h, because the camera is the same, and in the left row of the route type "Gazel" - because it is left to leave, to turn to the town. And here the madness of the gathering rests on Gazel, sharply retarded and again myrgy-myrgy and bip-bip. But the transition and the camera - you can't speed up, and Gazelley has nowhere to go - right is busy. So Gazel only turns on the left twist – like, “Don’t be nervous, left to me.” The madness is pressing the signal continuously, but Gazelle can’t jump and miss it from below? I have already followed this procession in the right row and I see on the side the profile of Gazeli’s driver – his face is filled with deep calm and complete pofigism. It was written, “Take a horse with your dog.”
Behind it all catches the pass-ups and is bicycling to the madness. The Driver (Nice) The dumbness suddenly throws the car sharply to the right, crossing the right lane in front of me (I, speaking in the dry language of protocols, "were forced to resort to emergency braking") and going to the side. On the sidelines he surpasses a couple of cars, again on the diagonal crosses two lanes and finds himself in front of Gazelle. There is an unknown driver. The madness demonstrates the ultimate madness – it is sharply retarded before Gazelle, the type of “punishment”. Gazeli's driver, keeping the indian leader's impatient face, doesn't even try to brake and crumbles on the rear tamper. At the last moment, "Mazdyuk" understands that it will be he's now, and gases, leaving the blow.
Passat-ss at the same time continues to signal in the ass of Gazelle. I was directly surprised by the steel nerves of her driver - this brakes in the front, this in the back, and he drives himself as if there are no.
And here comes the culmination - the "masdyk" is again sharply discouraged before Gazelle, apparently, having decided that for the first time he did not appreciate the depth of his resentment. Gazel quietly turns to the left, going to the turn, and in the ass of the "mazdjuk", not ceasing to bite, the sharply accelerated passat flew.
Sometimes the universe shows us a surprising harmony of interactions.

People who rewrite the Constitution accuse us of undermining the constitutional system!

If you do not know how to open a child protection cover, seek help from children.

Subscription to uninteresting movies

A long time ago I graduated from the music school of the city of N-sk. Music was an integral part of my life, like lessons in the evening, cleaning on Saturdays, getting up at seven, mango cakes for breakfast.

The worst thing for me was to deceive my parents or someone of the adults whose role in my life I thought was important. My teacher Tamara Alexandrovna was definitely such a person. I loved and feared her at the same time. He loved her praise for a well-prepared lesson, and suffered when he heard a tired breath because of the wrongly learned accompaniment.

It was one unhappy day of late autumn. They are there, by the way, all unhappy, because the memory of the warm summer holidays is still fresh. There is still a long way to snow and entertainment. And every road to school and back is a tunnel from the gray sky and a tiny rainy rain. I stood and collected notes in a pack after not the most successful lesson from Tamara Alexandrovna. There were some booklets on her teacher’s table.

- Stas, these are subscriptions to the cinema. Do you go? I heard the teacher’s voice.

I loved the cinema very much, but at that moment nothing in my childhood heart recalled. I understood that the musician is unlikely to distribute tickets for Robocopa or Star Wars.

I opened the booklet. It is so. Eye immediately found familiar from the music literature words, surnames, names – libretto, tenor, Borodin, Mozart, Puccini, “Spartak”, “Prince Igor”, “Rigoletto”.

Reading the booklet did not add joy to me. Like any teenager, I was fascinated by Lieutenant Helen Ripley and the soldier Freddie Krueger.

The subscription costs ten rubles, you can take it later. - said Tamara Alexandrovna in a tone that did not involve discussions, so in my brain these films immediately got into the section "obligatory for viewing", - the movies will be shown every Sunday at 15.00.

Sunday is like a holiday. The awareness of the approaching Monday poisoned him. Even the traditional evening film on the first channel could not fix it. And now the next 10 Sundays will also be broken in half by watching some idiotic music movies.

The scenario of “not walking” was not even considered by me. And that still surprises me, because when I watched the first movie in the room I was sitting completely alone. I knew that other students were also “selling” subscriptions. Some even tried to sell them on a solfegio for cheap.

The first film was Amadeus with Tom Hals as Mozart. His face I have already met somewhere – in some second-class militants or horrors. Maybe I confused someone. But the fact that this art movie calmed me a little.

As you can see, I was sitting alone in the room. Although not. For the first 15 minutes in the rear row were some beers with beer. I thought I would spend time at the cinema. They loudly commented on the scenes, blasted the hat through the projector’s beam, so that it passed through the entire screen with a huge shadow, whispering at every convenient moment. But they quickly realized that the movie was not for them, drank a beer and left.

When it happened, I did not notice. The movie captured me. Within an hour and a half, the life of the great composer came before his eyes. Mozart was exactly as I imagined him. In appearance and in character. The innate genius of the composer, to whom everything is given so easily, his sense of music, which is superior to all others. The music shakes him from within. He just can’t keep it in himself. He is a conductor of pure art between space and paper. And this is the tragedy. He is happy with this fate and the gift to create, but it exhausts him. Mozart actually burns in the stream of music.

F. Murray Abrahams, who was more familiar to me as an actor of secondary roles in thrillers and fighters, talentedly played Antonio Salleri in this film. It is known that Salieri was a very good musician and composer. He earned his place as a court capelmaster and recognition in the music community. And imagine that you work hard to create every musical work – a sonata, a symphony, a fuge, an opera. Like a jeweller who for years grades the same piece of stone to get the perfect ornament. And then there breaks up some honest stranger without manners, without race and tribe, who does with music whatever he pleases. And the evil joke of life is what makes it genius. What you took months and years, this puppy does with your left leg in a couple of minutes.

The film covered me with the head – the play of actors, music, costumes and decorations of old Vienna. An hour and a half passed like a second. After the movie, I sat for another ten minutes in the brightly illuminated room. There was lacrimose in my head. Mozart’s death shocked me. I knew before that he died young, like Pushkin, but I did not realize the whole tragedy of this death so unjust, untimely, unnecessary.

When I got home, I realized that I had forgotten my hat in the cinema. Any other day I would run for her back because in our family losing things was considered a crime. But that loss did not touch me at all. I still lived in the movie, crying over the body of Mozart thrown in a dirty bag into an unnamed grave for the poor. What is a hat compared to the death of a genius creator?

My hat was returned. at the next session.

Pushkin forgot his hat on Mozart. I heard a woman’s voice behind my back when I came to watch the second movie on the next Sunday. I turned around. The old watchman looked at me through his glasses.

Their hat? – asked the wardrobe maker, taking somewhere from under the stand my sports cock.

“My,” I replied, “thank you.

Take it now. I will not disguise you. There is no one anyway. A lot of honor. I will shut up and go sleepy,” she said intentionally, strictly, but with a light smile. Most adult women communicated with me so many years later. They failed to hide their sympathy for my image of the ideal grandson.

This time it was “Prince Igor”. I went through Borodin’s opera a couple of weeks ago and could freely sing the chorus of the boyar or the aria of the Prince himself (“Oh, give me freedom. I can repay my shame!“ )

The room was empty again. I bought my ticket and started to choose a place in the middle.

After Amadeus, I was prepared for a slight disappointment. I was waiting for the theatrical production, but from the first footage I realized that it was again an art movie. Even more interesting was when it turned out that Prince Igor was played by the hero of Russian militants and adventure films Boris Khmelnitsky. The actor with the most bright and characteristic appearance. Captain Grant, Robin Hood – he was perfectly given the roles of mothers of adventurers – noble and strong. Prince Igor was great. The film was musical, but with good adventure and combat scenes. I didn’t lose my hat this time, but I watching it.

- Tamara Alexandrovna, here is 10 rubles per subscription. I forgot to give you everything, I put the wrapped bills on the table. The specialty class had just begun.

What kind of subscription? The teacher said a little distracted. She looked away at me, and then her look suddenly focused, her eyes wide opened, and she said, “Do you go to see this movie?”

“Well,” I said a little surprised, “you said it yourself.

“Yes, Stasiq,” she said, “but at the last meeting the director of the school said that the hall was empty. The children do not want, and the parents do not insist. And the teachers also do not do that: Sunday is the only weekend. We even thought about asking the cinema to cancel the show. But the administration said the technology is working, the people are busy. The show is in the plan.
I stood and listened to Tamara Alexandrovna, who seemed to be justified.

So you are going! I met her in the eyes. What have you already looked at?

Tamara Alexandrovna sat at the table

“Well,” I started a little uncertainly, “three weeks ago there was a ballet “Spartak.”

I decided to start with the uninteresting. In my hit parade of musical genres, ballet plays somewhere at the end of the TOP-10. But I was admired by the artist who played the role of Roman commander Kras. It was so good that I couldn’t remember anyone else.

“Well, if only,” cried Tamara Alexandrovna, “it was you who fell under the magic of Maris Liepa. The dancer was from God. He recently died. So sorry.

After the ballet, two Sundays in a row showed films from Verdi's most famous operas "Rigoletto" and "Traviata". These are full art films, with natural shootings in picturesque places, beautiful decorations and with stunning costumes.

In Rigoletto, the role of the Duke was played by Pavarotti. And in "Traviata" played the second of the three great tenors - Plácido Domingo. And literally a month before that, I found in the school library a book "Sto libretto", where the most famous operas of all time were collected! You may not like opera, but adventure stories or horror stories love everyone. And opera is always a twisted plot, intrigue, and most often with a bad ending. Imagine a book with more than a hundred such stories. Each is written in three or four pages. This is a treasure for not possessing!

So I watched Verdi from the beginning to the end. No miracle was expected. I knew everyone would die.

Tamara Alexandrovna listened to me, shrugged her head and said something like “Well, I have a pupil.” In tone, I didn’t understand it was praise, surprise or something else, but I didn’t have time to think about it. The lesson began, and I switched to Kabalevsky.

I didn’t tell Tamara Alexandrovna that this month I became practically my own in the cinema. I continued to go to movies alone, not realizing that now they are actually being shot just for me. I even got 20 minutes late. Sweatened and stunned, I ran into the hallway of "The Motherland", compressing in my hands an already quite yellowed subscription with the imprints of a compost.

Here is he! The clotheswoman spoke loudly when I arrived. I said it would come.

She smiled so sincerely that I stopped in indecision.

Why did he get up? Put your jacket here, wet all. Why did she wear all the pants, she continued to read, helping me to take off my upper clothes. And then she said somewhere beside, Misha, factories! Client has arrived.

I followed her gaze and saw a figure of a smoking man in a stove separated from the wall.

Do you want to drink? I asked the wardrobe.
I have not yet recovered my breath and only shaken my head.

Then go to the hall. Look at your trolls.

I did not notice how the autumn ended, and with it the subscription. There was only one undisclosed film. On Friday I had a fever. On Saturday morning, a doctor examined me and told me to stay in the hospital.

What about cinema? I asked my mom when the doctor left.

Which movie? – Mom knew about the subscription, but did not track the number of sessions I visited.

Tomorrow is the last movie! I cannot miss him.

No movie at all, Stacey. The doctor said you have the flu. Lie in bed. Then you see.

How will I look? They will not show him again!
My mother has already left the room.

The next day, at 14.30, I found the movie theater phone in the city directory and called the watch.

The woman’s voice at the end seemed familiar to me.

“Hello,” I said. I go to you to watch movies on a music school subscription. Do you remember me?

Oh Pushkin, hello to you. We are waiting for you today. The voice in the phone was warm.

“You see, I got sick,” I narrated, “and I have to sit at home.

I did not know what to say anymore. And what did I count on? Tell me to postpone the session? What a shit. Ask them to watch the movie instead of me and then tell me again? Fantastic too. To ask the watchman to convince my mom to let me complete the subscription channel? It’t work for my mother.

What did you want to ask, sweetheart? The voice in the phone brought me back to reality.

“I don’t know,” I honestly said, and suddenly I cried.

“Well, don’t cry, my sweetheart,” the watchman began to reassure me, “let’s do this. You are rectified. When you get well, go to the cinema. We will show you this movie separately.

It was a great idea and I believed it.

“Thank you,” I said and hanged the phone without saying goodbye.

But I never went to the cinema. I did not watch the movie. The disease pulled me out of the magic circle of the subscription, and the magic disappeared. On Monday, I looked back at the past two months and couldn’t understand what was happening to me. If someone asked me why I went to the movies for these films, I could hardly give a detailed answer. The fairy tale went away, and with it some knowledge went away, leaving only a feeling of losing something important.

A month later I remembered the subscription, but I could not find it. I decided to call the cinema to ask to show me the last movie from the subscription. Suddenly I realized that I forgot his name. I remembered and wrote out all the nine tapes I saw, but the tenth film didn’t want to be remembered.

I put this list under the glass of the desk to keep it in front of my eyes in case the memory suddenly blows out of its depth the right name. But that never happened.

Since then 25 years have passed. I have seen hundreds, maybe thousands of movies. I became a true filmman: I easily remember actors, plots, winged phrases and secondary heroes. I love cinema, but sometimes I think it’s not the main thing. Looking through all these countless films, I secretly hope to encounter the same one that I have never seen. I don’t remember the name, but I’ll definitely recognize it when I see it. I'll see, I'll see and the magic will come back.

Fight against corruption (activities prohibited on the territory of the Russian Federation)

Tell me about your first sexual experience. How did you prepare for it, what did you buy, how did it go?



YYY: I chose the cheapest laminate. 5k is enough for a room.

xxx: We worked with Dima Varenye at the beginning of the 2010s. The name is such - Varenie, he was sometimes called Varenie, with the emphasis on the last slogan, in the French manner. He worked in the Finnish department, but in appearance, not a jappie, not a hipster and not an effective manager, a simple smiling guy.

And one day he calls from the bank, where he went to take some documents, and says:

“Allo, this is Varenye, I’m in the bank.”

Not all people are brothers; there are also sisters.

A crying girl came to her husband near the store. But he made the only right decision: took a step back and called the police.

Protect, protect and protect at all costs. Thirty years ago, this position of an adult man towards even a foreign child seemed to be the only correct one.

Nowadays, men are rattling from a strange child, like the devil from a ladana. Has the man gone today?

No, it is something else. On the wave of general pedophilia, the normal human reaction of a normal man: to protect, to protect, can lead him to the bar of the accused.

Or make your wallet a lot easier. After all, the smallest and most defenseless are all used for their ugly purposes by fraudsters.

Recently, my husband almost became a victim of such a fraud. And yes, I’m 200% sure it was just a scam!

A weekend, vanity, close to the shopping center full of cars: everyone is stuck.

Somehow finding a place somewhere on the edge, the husband parked our big horse, came out of the car, and here...

To him suits a crying distracted 10-year-old girl in a rather dirty jacket.

She explains that she is lost, her mother and brother have gone somewhere and she cannot find them.

Imagine: parking cars, everyone runs on their business, some cars park, others leave. And then a little frightened child pulls a thin pen to you, asking for help.

Are you a man, or who?? to

Naturally, any normal man will take the child by the hand and take him to the shopping center! There is danger around the car.

Probably in the hands of fraudsters.

The husband, himself unwilling, as it turned out, carried out the most correct test.

Stiring his hands into his pockets and delivering the phone, he calmly said to her, “Now I’ll call the police and they’ll quickly find your mother!”

This situation reminded me of my favorite children’s film “A Guest from the Future.” Remember how a little girl, with a deep bass, slandered her grandmother with bad words?
As soon as the word "police" sounded and he began to pick up the number, the girl fell down quite boldly in an unknown direction, lost among the cars.

After this, not caring about shopping and the hungry family, the husband went to the nearest OVD and told the guard that near the shopping complex "Galerie":

a) a missing girl (with a description of the receiver) who, when mentioned by the police, quickly escaped;

b) the fraudsters engage the girl herself.

The officer thanked him and called the patrol car to the "Galerie".

From the point of view of the man of the 80s, the husband did wrong. But in the courtyard - the 21st century, and its realities are such that, offering help to another child, you can shuffle the term on the "happy" article.

By the way, after the incident, the husband noted that the parking lot, where he was ordered to stop, is practically in the "blind" zone of surveillance cameras.

It turns out that the call to the police is a good test: if the child is not to blame, you will calmly wait for the crew, which will take care of the child's problems. And if the child is an accomplice of fraudsters, then he is most likely to escape when mentioning the police.

and paranoia? possibly. But, as the saying goes, “even if you are paranoid, it doesn’t mean you aren’t being watched.”

And... take care of your children!

In the Emirates, every newborn is given $50,000.
We open an account in the state services to immediately pay taxes and fines.

At work, one man asked the accounting office to reduce the official salary as much as possible - in order to reduce the amount of alimony.

For a very long time everyone who knew (and I included) considered him “not a very good person.”

Until they learned - that the child he pays alimony to his ex-wife, lives with him.

If you are armed and are at the Glenmont subway station, please shoot me.



Shoot straight in the head, in the high, a little under the corner down. I need the bullet to go the shortest path through my brain to the hippocampus. If I’m lucky, I’ll feel the bullet breaking my brain for a few decades.



I know it sounds awful, but you will do me a great service. To die from a shot as quickly as possible is the best thing that can happen to me right now.



My trial began about ten thousand years ago, at 10:15 this morning. I work by participating in clinical trials of drugs. I’m the so-called “subject” who takes unchecked drugs so doctors can study side effects. Once it was a medicine for the kidneys, several times – something from pressure or to lower cholesterol. This morning I was told that the medicine I took was a nootropic that improved the brain.



I have never felt any effect from these medications. In other words, none of the drugs that I was tested, did not shake me, did not relax, and did not work at all. Maybe I’ve always been in the placebo group, but I didn’t feel anything anyway.



Today everything was different. This shit worked. I was given a pill at 10:15 and then asked to wait in the reception room until I was called for a few tests. “Only 30 minutes,” the laboratory nurse said to me. I sat down on the couch in the reception room and read a couple of articles from Psychology Today magazine from the coffee table. I was not invited back to the office, so when I finished this magazine, I took US News and read it from cork to cork. Then I read the old issue of Scientific American. What are they doing there for so long?



I looked at the wall clock. It is only 10:23. I read all three magazines in eight minutes. I remember thinking that day would be long. I was right.



There was a small shelf with old books. When I stood up to approach him, it seemed like my legs barely worked, not in the sense that they became weak, but as if they became slow. I stood up from the couch for a minute and walked to the shelf for another two minutes, though it was only two steps before it.



Of all the books on the shelf, I chose Tomic Moby Dick. I had the same problem with my hands as I had with my legs: I had stretched to the book for an eternity and even had time to get bored while waiting for my hand to touch its cover.



I pulled back to the couch and fell on it, as if in slow action. It reminded me of astronauts jumping on the moon under low gravity conditions. There I discovered Moby Dick (slowly) and started reading from the phrase “Call me Ismail.” I was able to get to the point where Ahab threw his trumpet into the sea (this is his mother, chapter thirty) when I was called for the tests.



The laboratory asked me:



How do you feel?



and slowly.



In fact, it is the opposite. You think the world around you is slow because you are fast.



But what about my feet? My own hands? It was like slow action.



You think your body is moving slowly because your brain is working much faster. Now it works 10-20 times faster than usual, so you think and process incoming signals with acceleration. Despite this, the movements of your body are limited by the laws of biomechanics. In fact, you are moving faster than the average person, but your brain is so ahead of action that even your acceleration seems to you very slow.



I thought about my slow fall on the couch. Even if my muscles worked slowly, I would still obey the laws of gravity, but I even fell slowly. The slowed muscles could not explain why gravity seemed weaker. My brain was 10 times more active, so I read 30 chapters of Moby Dick in 15 minutes.



I passed several tests. Physically it was fun to go: I jongled with three balls, then four, and then six. It was easy because all six balls moved very slowly. In fact, it was even boring, having to wait for each ball to fly on its own trajectory to put a hand under it (still slow) and throw it back again. They threw corn rings into the air, and I caught them with sticks for food. They also poured out a handful of coins, and I counted the total before they touched the ground.



The cognitive tests were no longer so fun, but cognitive. Find a word in a text of fifty (three seconds). Pass the intricate labyrinth on the sheet A1 (two seconds). Detailed answers to questions about the presentation, which I was shown at a rate of 10 images per second (95% correct).



I was told I had more than 250 on the Knopf scale. This is beyond any human outcome.



Then I was sent home. I was told that the effect of the medicine will pass in an hour in two. “You will feel like a few days have passed. Try using this to your advantage – respond to work emails while you’re in accelerated mode!”



The trip home was horrible. There were only three metro stations, which now took about 35 minutes, but in my new, accelerated reality, it took a few days. A few days. I only walked from the office and to the elevator for about an hour! Although I ran as hard as I could, the laws of biomechanics were stronger than me. I can’t force my legs to move at the speed of my brain. This gap between body and mind did not allow me to correctly assess the position of the body in space, and accordingly, to react to the surrounding environment. In fact, I have become an impenetrable giant. I miscalculated my speed and crashed into the wall of the elevator with all my strength. Despite the fact that I saw how far away the wall was from me, I could not stop and pull my finger away in time by pressing the lift button, so I ticked into it too hard. too much. It was very painful. If my brain worked normally, I would feel pain for thirty seconds, but in my state, it lasted for 30-40 minutes.



The lift was disgusting. At four o’clock, or five o’clock, I went down to the seven floors, looking over the walls of the elevator.



I got to the subway — honestly, it was even fun. Even though I was moving super slowly for myself, I could still choose where to put my legs, how to move my hands, and how to turn. Two quarters later, I adjusted to this imbalance between mind and body, and then I was like dancing all the way to the subway, lavishing between people on the sidewalk and avoiding passing cars with a gap of just a few inches (read: minutes).



I went down the ladder for an hour, ran on the platform, and then incredibly missed all six minutes while waiting for my train. Of course, unlike the elevator, there was something to see here, but I had time to get bored. I should have taken that Tommy Moby Dick with me.



My rainbow train arrived at the station. The usual metro brake screw, high enough, in my speed perception turned into a long low sound, something like a monotonous solo on a tube. Three octaves below began to sound not only the sound of the brakes of the subway train, but also all the other sounds, almost on the brink of the unheard. I could not hear the voices, they became much below the perceived frequency range. I was able to hear a baby crying in the subway car — her cries slowed so slowly that they reminded me of whale singing. Other sharp sounds, such as car cranks or the drizzling of trucks passing through the crabs, became deaf scatterings of a distant thunderstorm.



Even at the research center, I could talk to staff and hear them clearly, but now it has become impossible. The effect of the medication only increased.



I spent a few days on that fucking train. A few. of days. Listening to the whale songs of a screaming baby and solo on the brake tube. Even though the voices went out of the range of frequencies I perceived, the smells I felt were the same as before: I felt the smell of bodies, the smell of train brakes, the smells of curtains and other wonderful smells of the subway wagon.



I finally got to my apartment. Running from the threshold to a large room at full speed felt like a slow descent on the waters of a lazy river.



I was so happy to finally be home. At least there was something to do. I grabbed the “One Hundred Years of Solitude,” which I recently started, and read it. I scrolled pages so fast that I broke some of them, but despite this speed, I still scrolled more than I actually read. Three minutes have passed since I came back.



Then I stuck on the internet (lords, modern computers are on just eternity), but the internet was annoyingly slow. The new page loaded for about an hour — and I took a fraction of a second to read it. Hundreds of read articles from the tape - and three more minutes. All of.



I started reading books from my must-read list, and I read two. Four more minutes passed.



Maybe if I fall asleep, the effect of the medicine will pass? But unfortunately, the part of the brain responsible for the perception accelerated by the drug was not responsible for sleep. Despite the fact that I didn’t sleep for a few days (as it felt), my body still thought it was 1:25 days, and it didn’t want to sleep.



Despite this, I tried to get myself to fall asleep: I went to the bedroom (a relentless 45-minute walk through the entire apartment) and rushed to bed (like a peanut descended on the mattress), closed my eyes and lay down for hours (10 minutes in real time) until I gave up. The dream did not go. It all went to the fact that for a few days, or even weeks, I would be locked in this slow prison.



So I took Zolpidem. From the feeling that the pill and the water I drank the pill moved inside my throat, I got sick. Stopping to breathe, like a snail crawling down the esophagus.



I read the book. 10 minutes have passed. I read the second. Eighteen minutes after taking Zolpidene. In anger, I threw the book through the whole room — it flew slowly and gracefully through the air, like a leaf in the wind, and crashed into the wall with a barely audible long hole — it was the first sound I seemed to have heard in hours — and then slipped to the floor, drowning like a hammer in the water. Gravity has obviously not changed since the morning, the laws of physics remained the same. Only my perception of time went crazy, which means that I can measure the effect of medicine by relying on the speed of things falling. Given how long the book slipped to the floor, I realized: the effect of the drug was still increasing.



I read the magazine. Turn on the TV. Disappointedly looked at each frame of the video, like a slide show. Shut off the TV.



Read a little more. I read the first two volumes of Churchill’s “History of the English-speaking peoples” – not an easy read. It was actually disgusting to read, but given that taking another book from the shelf would take a few intolerably boring hours, just sitting down and reading Churchill was better. Or at least not much worse.



It has been 35 minutes since the reception of Zolpidene. I lay on the couch, closing my eyes. The time went. Breathing is a long process. The time went. Exit – a few more hours.



I do not. could. to sleep.



A new plan was needed. I decided to go back to the research center where I was given this medicine. Suddenly, they have something that can overcome such a side effect. Well, or some sleeping pill, so that I just sleep all the time until the action passes.



I left the apartment as quickly as I could — a few hours to my senses, and didn’t even close the door. It would take too much time.



Down the stairs (much faster than in the elevator if you run), through the hallway and finally out. A long day in the office.



Down the street, lavishing between passers. Probably they thought I was moving with inhuman dexterity. The first step that leads down to the subway. The staircase. to the second flight. And then Zolpidem acted.



I did not want to sleep. Absolutely. On the contrary, probably, the action of Zolpidene was mixed with the effect of the experimental drug that I took in the morning. I ran down the stairs, moving slowly, but still feeling the movement, and then – the bat! Everything stopped.



The street was boring, the metro noise disappeared. I was surrounded by a perfect silence like I had never heard before. Before the action of Zolpidem, my sense of time slowed down, probably once in a hundred. And then a thousand times. Each second lasted days. Even the movement of the eyes, any attempt to turn the gaze, felt like a slow slide through the field of sight.



I was learning to walk, run, and jump all day, with my brain working hundreds of times faster than my body, but after the slowdown that Zolpiden gave me, control over my body became almost impossible. I fell from the stairs. Even though I was stuck in the middle of the step, I could absolutely not control my muscles. Mindfully, I commanded my leg to move forward — it took hours, and then back, if I thought I would miss the next step. The clock was used to adjust how bent my ankle was, and the clock was used to bend it differently if it didn’t work out the first time.



Despite all my attempts, I turned my ankle to the next step. Slowing a drop did not ease the pain. Several hours of uninterrupted pain in the leg. Therefore, the nerve signals of pain that come to the brain do not work like the nerves in the ears. The sounds stretched over time, dropping to the point of being unable to perceive them, and the pain did not change over time. It took many hours of increasing pressure on my leg as I carried the weight on it. hours of increasing pain.



I fell forward, unable to control my slow body. Days went by before I slipped down, trying to spread the body so as not to hit the ground with my head. I succeeded – I hit my shoulder. At first I didn’t even feel the blow, but the pressure grew as the pain grew – hour after hour. The shoulder could not withstand and flew out of the joint with one endless rush. A few days later I stopped, rolling down on the ground and looking into the towel. My shoulder hurt as hard as it did at the time of the attack. I had enough time to think about everything in the world during this fall. If every second lasted like a day, every minute of real time took years. Even if the effect of the drug ends in two or three hours, for me this nightmare will last for several centuries.



By the time I fell on the floor, I had a plan. You have to get to the platform and get under the train.



I tried to get up on the four but overestimated the strength with which I had to turn and moved on my back. His shoulder had been sick for a few days and was just begging for mercy. The second attempt – I fell face down trying to understand how to control a body that moves slower than grass grows. A few weeks of fruitless attempts — and I finally got up on my knees. If I managed to get up on the four with such difficulty, I won’t be able to go or run. So I slipped — I slipped down the metro station, watching the disturbing people around me for weeks, slipped down under the turniket and onto the escalator.



At the peak hour, the escalator moved at the speed of a glacier slipping into the sea. As I went down on it, I looked at a crowded platform. On the sign that tracks the trains, it was written that the next train would arrive in 20 minutes. Twenty minutes is a whole year for me. I will have to sit in the subway station for a whole year, waiting for death. I slipped off the escalator for a few days, looking at the worried faces of office workers. I managed to add up to the bench and bend next to it, trying to find such a position not to disturb the painful shoulder.



But the situation worsened as much as possible.



The slowdown on the stairs was only the beginning of the interaction between the experimental drug and Zolpidene. And now they began to interact in full force. I blinked, and years of darkness followed. I had no hearing anymore, but whispering, I lost sight. Years of absolute darkness and silence, filled only with pain in the damaged shoulder.



My accelerated brain filled the emptiness from sensory deprivation as much as I could. They were speaking with me, they were singing in non-existent languages. Patterns, faces, colors flashed before my closed eyes. I remembered my whole life and invented another. I forgot English. I fell into despair. Praying to God. became God. I created a new universe in my imagination and brought it to life. And so again, and again, and again.



The eyes opened with the slowness of the tectonic plates. Weeks were light flashes, weeks were flashes of light, weeks were narrow spots through which I could look at the subway platform: the ankles of the passengers near me and the ad on the other wall.



I got my phone out of my pocket — an action that took decades. How can I describe this unbearable boredom? Even the pain in the shoulder is not comparable to her. I thought of every thought that could come to my mind, not once. The advertisement on the opposite wall did not change and the ankle of people did not move. Absolutely. The boredom was so saturated that it seemed to be touched, as if stone and metal rings were compressing my brain. It was impossible to escape from it.



What could I do? If I jump off the platform without waiting for the train to crash, I will not die. I will experience endless pain, stronger than falling from the stairs, but most likely someone kind will save me before the train arrives, and I will not be able to do anything when the train actually appears.



My suffering will be endless.



So you have to wait for the train to get under it. When he strikes me, I’ll feel like I’m being torn apart for centuries before I die and it all ends. I have lived hundreds of lives on this bench. My soul is much older than any human being who has ever lived on Earth. Most of my life is outbreaks of pain in a twisted shoulder, lying on a subway platform and watching the same thing: ads and someone’s legs.



This post is my plan B. My last prayer. My own adventure. I spent several lives printing this post hoping that someone would read it and make sure that my suffering had to end. Someone who is now on this platform. Someone who finds a man lying next to a bench who has recently slipped down the ladder. Someone who will kill this man as soon as possible. Shot in high.



If you are armed and are at the Glenmont subway station, shoot me.

xxx: I trained a brewery director who needed English to facilitate negotiations with foreign partners. Classes were held with him in the factory office, where a secretary periodically went with a folder of documents for consideration.



In one of the classes I passed him a test on a sheet of paper - there were questions for which it was necessary to choose the correct answers.



The director looked at me, thought about something for a while and wrote on this test: "I confirm", put a signature and date. For a moment there was silence, and then the comic situation came to him and he laughed.

The director is always the director.

A acquaintance told me. I drove a car and drank a milk cocktail. Propërlo is drastically empty. Patience, patience, standing in a traffic jams, decided to stop.

Looking around, he took a steep step into the forest. Following him from another parked car two strong men headed.

They stopped, they were at a distance too. Goël deep into the forest - and they follow. In short, captured a moment as if they lost him.

Just sat down, the process of pashël - one because of the tree suddenly appears with the words: ".. ля, he's just fucking sat down! “” There were cops in the state, I thought whoever was looking at the setup is doing.

Xxx: The birth of a child caused only one association for me – as if you have severe diarrhea, but at the same time wild constipation.

Yyy: God, what a precise definition

God laughs at our plans, but still sets his vision.