Andrey Makarov (Ortlib). Road to the White Coast (№ 453238)

Kasyanich's daughter lives in the city. We spent the night with her. Just in a new house has an apartment. High up on the ninth floor. I went out onto the balcony, looked, and all around, melancholy, melancholy, some houses stand in a gray square, and the yard is like a prison in transit. And the trees in that yard are small, sickly. It is immediately clear that they lack light and air. One word - prisoners.