Vladimir Osipovich Bogomolov. The moment of truth. In August, forty-fourth (№ 184627)

And here I am as in the head - after all I'm today twenty-five years!
Merry birthday, nothing to say... Sitting in the dust on the attic, fleas you want to eat like Bobby, and you bite in there is nothing. And not in vain you sit, that's the main thing...
Yes, a quarter of a century - not the seeds, we can say half of life. Then the time and money to knock out who you are and what you stand?..
Say, people usually happy, but unhappy. Mine is the opposite. I like my job and position are quite satisfied. Risk like someone here who has preempted, he's alive... Appreciate me, and awards are not less than the officer on the front line, what am I missing, what?!
I mean poorly furnished attic of a brain too small... Culture is not enough, knowledge of some... well, says al Fe, it will come with time...