Yuri Vizbor. Breakfast overlooking Elbrus (№ 308048)

... Are we going by trolley № 23. He stops at Stoleshnikov lane, the store "Fur". Outside the window - the crucified skin of a wolf, black-brown foxes, curled up, hats from rabbits and Karakul. It was evening, and in the window lit the light. "The store is dead," said my daughter. She could not forgive humanity, no guns, no bombs, no death as a system. Then, when both my ex-wives separated me from my daughter - one of the high and noble considerations ("that scoundrel will never see my daughter!"), and the second due to the unbearable, painful jealousy, I would often come to her kindergarten and standing in the shade of a tree, seen from a distance, as in the funny ranks of red, blue, pink caps floats and her chicken hat for protection from the wind from the inside lined with silk. I felt that my daughter misses me. I didn't just know, and feel. We were not separated, neither the miles nor the oceans, nor snow. We were separated passion, the horrifying cruelty of the characters, a desire to make little of a man born for the good, the evil instrument of revenge. Never, until death I will not be able to forgive that neither, nor both of these women, my former wives, whom I loved and who swore to me eternal love. <...> "I have to go to the window - I thought, - there, where crucified the gray wolf rolled over in a ball of black-brown Fox. To shop the dead". So I was thinking about myself, and it was true. I have been killed. What was left of me, it was a different person.