Book: Draft

With me would be easier, huh? I'm willing to help. Let all will be well and Home, and Moscow-the capital and the whole of progressive mankind. I'm the only dumb from birth. Before I explain what it is, I don't understand.

- I'm not from the harness. I our earth. But I do not believe, because to not trust anyone.
- As the old saying Muller in "Seventeen moments of spring," I could not resist, "to not trust anyone, I can be".
- Mueller if you want to believe. - Dima nodded. - Dead to believe in.

The officer should be ready to join the fight, to turn the emphasis to return to the workplace.

And the window filth, muck, wet, God rehearses following the flood, wet people barking at each other and doing all sorts of stuff.

The real fear relief, rosary and will involve you completely. Do you see, hear, smell and feel. You can try the taste... If you have a sixth sense - the fear and take it in turn.

The hat is killing me. It is not accepted in Moscow to wear straw hats. Even in the heat. Even the old people, if they have not already fallen into insanity.

I immediately saw a White Rose in a long black dress with sweetheart neckline for his age... the old Lady graciously nodded to me and said something full of middle-aged woman standing next to... Neckline she was as defiant, but at least something reasonable. But light turquoise dress she clearly advised the enemy.

There is a type of people - in difficult situation, they begin to make many small movements. To measure the pulse of victims, closely check the documents at the police, calling for some numbers and ask strange questions... usually, there is no real use they do not. But the surrounding as-is calm, collected and start to take some action - not so numerous and spectacular, but much more useful.

Like some of Gauguin first brought to Tahiti and forced to draw with pastels, and then handed over with bright acrylic paint and taking advantage of the confusion, was persuaded to portray the landscape of the middle band, but in acid tones.

I suddenly remembered the song he loved to listen to father, about a man who lives in an old house. There is another window goes out into the field, the other in the forest, and the third on the ocean. Probably a song about functionality-customs officer like me. I just can't remember who sang it. Someone from the non-professionals seems to be - whether the famous traveler, or a cook... But sang surprisingly well, mentally, apparently, I enjoy a man long. Will have to find and listen to.

Looked killer Though! He wore a brown perforated sandals on his bare feet, baggy green shorts, and now stretching the collar of an orange shirt. On the head - something like a lemon-yellow waistcoats for the kindergartners-age. Shoulder - bag leatherette, white with blue.
- What? aggressively asked Kitty.
- You look like a bag of markers, - I muttered. China markers.

I didn't argue. Well, how to argue with a man who is unable to explain anything, and says "you know"?

And yet inevitably an inherent fear chill crawl between the shoulder blades. What to do - unwhipped generation still lying across the bench. Waiting for for it will cut off the rod.

- Here I read here recently Henry Miller... - suddenly said the driver.
Driver's view did not inspire hope even that he had read the fashionable Murakami and Coelho. Honestly, about Turgenev, Jack London and Strugatsky, too, there was considerable doubt...
- Listen, that I do not understand this high literature! Read, read... What a disaster like this? If high literature - so or eat shit, or fuck in the ass! Here's how to make an effort and read it?
- You don't overpower - advised me. - Read the classics.
- I Tiutchev really like - suddenly said the driver. And silent - like cut. So we got to the icy passage, silently and thinking about high literature.