Mikhail Gorshenev. (№ 192149)

Someday I will die and it will happen not later than sixty, because I'm young at heart and don't want to rot mentally and physically. And You will all howl and thump my care, and I'll sit on the wet parapet around Tverskaya-Yamskaya street and smoke some cigarette.
And You all will cry: "Pot, asshole! Well, how is it..." And I will shed a tear and count Your victories. Because we will win in this situation. I'll leave at that moment, when there is no time to Get bored. And You'll remember me with a kind word for what I'm not tired and did not become an asshole, earning You money. Well, I'm talking about those posers from the stage. Fighting for the person's face with the plastic - just to spend a little more on stage for a bag of green.
I've done everything for You. And You are with me always. We're one big family, and it is logical and natural that You will whine at me. No, guys. We'll still see each other. Only live. I'll wait...