At the beginning of the century, Kolya moved to a new apartment and was happy. Comfortable planning, new micro-area, intelligent logistics. Everything is wonderful. It is a bit unusual to see rows of identical garages, which could only be distinguished by the number. Yes, in the old garage apartment everyone put himself, hence a variety of sizes and colour palette. And here? An incubator of something. But it could be survived, because the main thing in the garages is communication, and it just wasn’t. Knock, at best, when meeting, and it is not all and not always. Nicholas really missed his friends.
At that time the social networks were not yet developed and the garage brotherhood successfully replaced them. You could come here with any problems. Getting money before pay, asking for help. Immediately to decide was not possible - definitely someone had friends or acquaintances who could help. Repairs are done, friends are always there. Assemble, disassemble, break down any difficulty (well, almost). The tool – in the garage, like in Greece – has everything!
The usual weekend is when you come to the garage, pick up the hood (but you can’t get stuck) and go to the neighbor to discuss the news. Football, politics, wives, children – themes will always be found. Yes, men love to crack, well, what do you do here? And there are others pulling up, after fifty and life went more fun. Yes, sometimes you can relax. Who doesn’t drink? call me! No, I’m waiting for you!” But it is not necessary. Great friendly collective, regardless of the size of the garage and the brand of the car. Even a bicycle! And these are REAL friends that you all know personally, not some virtual ones. No one can have 500 friends. Friends yes, but friends not.
So Cole suffered. Hears a new joke-oh, in the evening I will tell the guys, and then recalls... A couple of times I did not stand and went to the guests, a little reassuring, but the grief still.
Cole has decided. The wife went to the maid for the weekend, nobody distracts from the thought. If you cannot overcome a problem, you must lead it. somehow so. There is mango, shampoo and wood. Buy and soak the meat, soak the refrigerator with various liquids. The opening of the garage season began on Saturday, closer to lunch. The wood has burned, you can cook a shishel. The mangal collie placed near the garage, not to notice.
Here’s the first “float”.
Hi my neighbor! Which celebration?
Well yes. The weekend. Join me!
I am now!
I came back in a few minutes with a bottle.
The Gene!
and Cole!
Five minutes later, Alexis’ vegetables were added. Then again, the emotions crossed the end. We left late, but everyone was happy. The social network “unitary” is created.

And let’s sing something to support artists who are in a difficult financial situation?

Recently, a friend asked me about one of my brightest memories, when "the lion didn't go off the face." The most bright I did not remember from the course, but one moment I still remember very well.

In 9th grade we changed the teacher of physics, before that there was such an uncle with whores, who came, just dumb read the material and sometimes called to the board. After reading the theory, he sat down and did his business. Boring and incomprehensible. And behold, he went away, and a new teacher appeared, and he was quite young (years 23-24). Of course, everyone began to behave provocatively before him.

Despite his young age, he was the best physics teacher of all. He not only explained the material well, he was able to really interest. I even started reading the textbook not with difficulty, but it became really interesting. And my score from the former five (by 12 points) was 10-12, we even thought to go to the Olympics next year.

Unfortunately, closer to the middle of spring, he left for some reason, and we were replaced.

And then on the last call I saw him, and I went to say hello and just say thank you, for the fact that at least 1 year in school was memorable. I was so happy to see him that I asked him to embrace me. Instead, he raised me up and began to run around. At that moment I was so happy. And here I write this happiness and I really have a smile on my face).

I’m so glad I have such pleasant memories that make me feel good. and :)

I go with my nephew (student), and touched the topic of how doctors and teachers earn. I explain that they are budgeters, where they get their salary, and unintentionally I notice that their salary is small.

Why do people work for budgets? Do they not know that they pay little? My nephew asked.

Why did you take it? I asked.

How is it! There are budget phones, budget machines - this means that they are cheap. So those who work in budget organizations will also be paid little.

I had a date. So I decided to build a bathroom. I was told that in a couple of hundred kilometers from the city, cuts to the bath are doing. Compared to the city – much cheaper and quality at the level. I ordered. After a while, they call: ready your cut, take it.

I came and looked at the product (class!), agreed with the accompanying car, loaded and went. We left at night, and in the morning we were already there. However, upon arrival, the driver with the partner refused to provide assistance in unloading, even for a fee. Well, where am I at 6 in the morning, outside the city, in the country, to find cargoes? Even annoyed.

Here I remembered one of my friends, Mitte. In the past, we served together at OMON. I then moved to another position, and Mitty is there. I think: why do they run there in the OMON without reason, and the rails pull? Help your former colleague. I call Mitte, by the voice it is clear that the man from the bodyness or recently finished walking. I briefly explain to him: I came to the country, brought a rubbish, I can't unload one, help is needed! At the end of the wire there is silence, apparently narrowly thinking brother after a walk. Then I hear, "All, don't call me on the phone anymore, wait, I'll be soon!"

Okay, it’s good that Mitchell is coming soon. But he stopped the conversation sharply. Strange somehow. I didn’t even bother, because as a fascist, I painted his problems early in the morning. I sat on the wing, waiting. I went to sleep with my partner in the truck.

A 30-40 minute later, through a fence from the forest side, he jumps to me at Mitja's land. All dusted and evaporated, like from the marching through the crossed terrain. He approaches me, hits a car with a bath in the body and asks, without greeting, “Well, where is the corpse?” I am in the “which body”? Mitya closes her eyes and says, “Well, what you need to unload and hide.”

It turns out, Mitya was a little confused with the word I used in the conversation "srub" and perceived it as "carcass". Pommelie, 6 a.m., the quality of the telephone connection... Having understood my request in his own way, he responded to a friend’s request for help and took a taxi to leave the city. A few kilometers before the dacha, he dropped a taxi, hid a pre-off phone and went through the woods, trying not to be noticed, ran to me.

We safely unloaded it. And then they drank beer all day and life.

It was then that I realized that I had real friends who were ready to carry ammunition and unload bodies without asking any questions. All the questions and then...

For some reason, the confident and impartial “invisible hand of the market” promised to us has turned into a sweaty, greedy and stolen hand.

Problems

On Thursday, the boss held a meeting, the disbursement was arranged capital, the deadlines were delayed, the claim work was not established, the percentage of marriages increased, the quarterly premium is not to wait, if not eliminated. and etc.

We left the meeting, went out to the fresh air, we stood with a colleague, and he was somewhat dumb, silent, thoughtful.
I say:

- Max, don't worry you so, we will correct the situation now, the cause of the marriage has been identified, corrective measures are already being carried out, not for the first time, we will break. solve the problem.

He silenced and then said:
- You know, my wife and I go to the children's hospice on Saturdays, my wife is a volunteer, animator, and I do, help when there is time. Yesterday, my wife asked me to go with her after work. On Saturday we go on vacation.
They organized a children’s party, a theme party. At the end of the evening at the delivery of gifts, a boy, 7 years old, approaches Alena and asks:

Why did you come today, we thought you would come on Saturday?

On Saturday we can’t, we’re going on vacation.

Of course, for a long time?

for 2 weeks.

Long time, sorry

Why is?

I’m going to make a painting on Saturday, I’d like to give it to you.

You will give it after the holidays.

Two weeks long. I have an operation tomorrow, it’s fourth, I can’t wait for you. Oh I invented! I will give Svetlana Ivanovna, she will give you if anything.

The boy escaped. This boy has problems, and we have small difficulties at work in achieving the tasks.

The story was in December 2019, the boy was waiting, but now he is no longer. Maxim's painting at work, hanging on the wall, he says, not to forget what the real problems are.
The quarterly prize has never been awarded, and damn it.

If the president, after leaving the bunker, sees his shadow, the quarantine will last for another six weeks.

In the wave to say so. Grandma and granddaughter are waiting for guests from afar. There is also a grandmother, only with her granddaughter. The children have never met or communicated. On the eve of the arrival, the grandmother gives the grandson of ZU: "Maxim, behave well, share toys, and in general, when guests do not need to "pull the blanket on yourself." The child's eyes are rounded by horror: "I, what, should I sleep with her?“?”

When I was a little boy, aged five to six, my dad and I went into the elevator, and our neighbor came in with us. Growth below 2 meters. The elevator runs, the usual uncomfortable silence, and here I say to Dad:

- Well, do you remember the quote "Uncle Stepa is a giant, golden eyebrows, in summer wearing a shirt and in winter trousers"?

Dad just stunned at his neighbor and became very thick red.

Then they told me what I was going to do at home. But the expression of the father’s face, when he seemed ready to give everything in the world just to fail through the earth, I still remember.

The manifestation of childish directness caught me in a semi-empty tram that took us home on a hot summer day.

At one of the stops in the transport appeared a couple of girls-representatives of the near abroad, each accompanied by two or three children.

When the seven sat down on the shops, the daughter carefully examined them and asked me a sacramental question:

Why are they black?

I asked again because I didn’t hear it, or if I was squeezed by surprise. The four-year-old boy repeated with a ringing voice:

Why are we white and they are black?? to

I started the ultra-tolerant talk that all people are different and the color of the skin, like the color of the eyes, can also be different. There are people who are black and even more white than us. What this affects is the country where people were born or their families and bla bla bla.

One of my moms started touching me. The shopper was uncomfortable. If I knew the cherry cake would come later.

My daughter asked me where black people came from and whites came from, and she seemed to be calm.

Already standing in the door, before leaving the tram, the daughter once again looked carefully at this companion and said:

How good that we are white, yes, Mom?

When I was small, 5 years of age, my weakness was to find my mom’s cosmetics, use it as intended (not always) and run to my mom with screams: “Mom, am I beautiful? “The beautiful?” She smiled and replied, “Beautiful, beautiful... Just like a monkey!”

At the same time we visited my mother's brother and wife. One evening they were gathering for an event and, of course, the uncle’s wife marathoned before leaving. I sat next to and admired how my beloved aunt became so beautiful and dressed that at the end I could not stand and with all childish enthusiasm and tenderness cried, "Aunt Gula, you are so beautiful! As a monkey!”

It was only then that I learned that the monkey is a Tatar monkey.

My father had a walk by the grandmothers. As long as I remember, I have always flirted with women.

He and I used to go for a walk while his mother was cooking and cleaning up at home, and he couldn’t think of anything smarter than walking by his grandmothers, dragging me after him. Take a cup of tea and talk to a friend.

Probably he thought I was small, I didn’t think about anything and I didn’t understand anything. Partly it was. Well what? I was visited. Candy with sweets in front of me put, cartoons included - I am pleased.

And what they do there in the kitchen or in the neighboring room - I was not interested.

During the summer holidays, he also travelled with me several times. On the sea, in the sanatorium.

I remembered one episode very well.

I am 4-5 years old in the area. In the evening my father brought me to visit a woman. Not one to leave me is small.

They talked, they drank something. Very late already. I begin to fall asleep.

They decided to put me to sleep. Something in her room.

Sleep like that. I slept.

I woke up at night because of something, well, like any little child, in an unfamiliar environment, began to sneeze.

This woman came to me. and naked.

Even in the dark, but I knew it.

I was kissed somehow. I told something. Maybe a story. I no longer remember.

In the morning, I did not think about what happened. It disappeared before leaving the memory. The childhood though. So much interesting around.

He returned home from the sanatorium.

My father went to the store.

My mother asks. Where were they, where were they?

I tell: to the beach, to the zoo, to the cafe, to the park, to the movie, to my aunt.

Mother is surprised:

Which aunt?

I, absolutely, without a back-thinking thought, simply proclaim what remembers:

and naked.

It was an epic moment. My mother began to ask me about everything.

I tell you all honestly. What I remember, of course.

The scandal at home was serious. My mother drove my father out of the house. He explained for a long time, relying on the fact that I invented everything myself. I never confessed. Like convincing my mother.

She had a persistent belief that her father simply could not change her.

Of course, he did not take me anywhere else.

My friend worked as an engineer in one of the structures of Yukos, chased for the watches on the oil plant in Siberia, the money was enough, but when Yukos collapsed they all cut. Sitting without work for 2-3 months, can not find a job, no money, family, a small child.



From great despair, he decided to go to the carrier, called one organization, he was told to take documents and resumes.



When the employee of the human resources department arrived, took the documents, was ready to register for work, but looked at the resume and said:

Sorry, but you don’t fit me.

The friend began to wonder – why, moll?

She - you have experience in the specialty, higher education, find yourself a normal job, here is a contingent of alkashi and zeki in the loads. A friend began to convince that the family, no money, has agreed to any work. The staff said - no and do not persuade, I will not take you, do not ruin your life, look for a normal job.



The friend was upset, but the woman was right, he eventually after some time found a job in the specialty and made a good career.

As a student, he worked as a sanitary in the forensic morge. I remembered one case.



I was replaced by a man aged 55-60 years. The medical expert, returning from the call, gloss, say, wait, now "with a mattress" will be brought. He has been working for 15 years, and has never seen anything like that. In general, they brought a man inflated by water (pulled out of the bath), on his hands traces of cuts, a rope on his neck and traces of suffocation. A lot of scare from this spectacle, of course.



In the morning, although his change has already ended, the medical expert specifically stayed on the screening to find out all the details of the death of this man. However, these mysteries do not occur every day. Other medical experts were also interested in this case and began to make bets.



The results of the examination came to such conclusions. The man so desperately tried to reduce his account with life that:

I took a hot bath and cut off the veins, but something went wrong (the cuts were not very deep), the quick death did not come.

The deep desire to leave this world quickly gave rise to another idea – to hang yourself. As a result, the man tried to hang himself on a towel dryer that was placed just above the bathroom.



But life is a very harsh thing. The man could not hang - the rope attached to the towel dryer was broken. But the part that was wrapped on the neck fits very well into the skin. At the last moment, any hanger (if not under drugs) tries to reflexively remove the rope, as evidenced by deep scratches on the neck and the epithelium under the nails. Our hero was no exception.



The final conclusion of the medical expert - drowned. The man, completely weakened from blood loss, partially removed the rope from his neck, but could not get out of the bathroom.



The oldest medical expert wins. He immediately gave up, looking at the body, - a dive.

In 2005-2007 this story ended. He worked at an enterprise where the dress code was observed - a suit, eternal necklace and other joys of life. is uncomfortable. But it looks like a cultural one. I didn’t have my own transport, so I always took a bus from work to home. I come to the local small bus station, I wait for the bus, and I get this careful bomžik (forever there). Things shrink, thinning – shrink in one word, but! Sweat is clean! He approaches me and, a little frightened, asks:

Do you have a lot of rubles for bread? Shop in two steps. I think, "I will give the little things - not a pity, and I will look at the same time - bread, but... If not bread, then I will send in the future." He gave him small things, he goes to the store, goes out with a bucket. In fact, he was honest.

He approached me once again to bite, all the same, to shoot on the bread. And then again it is appropriate, I already by habit give him the prepared little stuff, and so complainingly asks:

Could I be bigger?

I did not understand.

I take a picture for work.

What work?

I’m here... I’ll get it back later.

He gave, not hoping for a return, but... For some reason he believed in the good. It’s been a week and a half since I didn’t see this boy at the car station and I watched him again. In the new specialty, cleanly shaved, the man patled his haircut, he did not even recognize him, if not by his voice, he would not know exactly. He gave me the money that I gave him for photography. It turns out that he went to work for a local plant, whether a diversity worker, or a courtyard worker, or someone else, got a room in the shelter - lived. He told me how he got into the bomb. The mother drank everything, and the apartment, including, and ended, he, the teenager, was thrown out on the street - and bombarded.

So believe in people. If a man wants, he will rise from the bottom.

Worked at Subway, from the top came the instruction with background music to put jazz, polls were conducted among the population and jazz turned out to be the most stressful music among the majority.

Where there is a majority, there are those who disagree with it. My aunt came and set out on the threshold for a scandal with me:

What kind of music do you play?! to

and Jazz

Fu, what a ugliness! Couldn’t you put it normal?! to

Explain the company’s policy

This is black music! She is terrible!!! to

Understanding that the aunt is starting to boil and she likes it, she was just waiting for it, suddenly including the victim:

Oh yes, you are right! I suffer myself! It’s just terrible, I’m forced to listen to it all day long!

What a nightmare! Your boss should tell you everything! The Heroes!

That’s how my aunt lost the scandal and went to sunset, sending rays of anger into space, and I continued to enjoy a rushy jazz and wipe the stand in the best traditions of nuar films.

P.S I don’t know why she came in, don’t ask.

One day, walking along the shore, I saw the Gypsies digging the ground... yes, the real Gypsies, with real scratches. It turned out that they had some sort of a Gypsy feeling overwhelmed the rails there, that they did hz there, they did not definitely strengthen the shore, and for the support of the pillar it was too close, but not the essence. One rail (or one rail) was already excavated, a few more were torn out of the ground, and the Gypsies were crawling further, there was still a couple of pieces. The next evening he went specifically looking, dug out a dozen 3-4 meters of sections, and forged further. It is worth noting that the place is not quite wild, but sparsely populated, and the rails needed to be raised along a fairly steep shore, from 5 to 20 meters to the top, it was interesting how these thin guys would pull them out. But I was not destined to see this, exactly at 4 in the morning, without a declaration of war, I and a neighbor, with the help of a thread, wires and some mother, pulled out all this hernia and twice in a trailer was taken to a familiar grandfather nearby (before we had to go further). I forgive you Gypsies.

I remembered a funny incident that happened in the early morning of my youth. There was a sweet couple in our group: we met at the preparatory classes, took out the apartment and started living in it.

By the end of the school year, I decided to leave. Who has changed, I don’t know. But the veneration of the guy I still remember: "I was on the pair, she took it all out. Even the plates! I left only the old furniture. All the boys sympathized with him and shook.

In fact, it turned out to be this: Mishana was from a neighboring region. He came with his jackets. And when they started to rent the apartment for two, Lenka stopped everything from her house: plates, pots, even bedding. Fortunately, her parents lived nearby – in a village that is 15 kilometers away from the city. In short, the business girl, in the "divorce" took all her back.

But how theatrically, dramatically and even tragically it was presented... “Even the spoonful... the fox, the spoonful took!”

Whatever you say, the most honest honey is lip.
Regardless of the result of the tasting, the inscription "Honey lip" always corresponds to reality.