In nature (pictures from the exhibition)

1.

It was under Peter, in the boarding house.

Arriving, my wife and I first went out to take a walk along the Gulf of Finland, anticipating, admitting, quiet bucolic joys ... like on the shore of desert waves ... such as unity with nature ...

What nature is there! Along the warfare strip is an exemplary trash, as if just here, just on the shore of desert waves, a garbage truck exploded with terrible force.

Packs of juices, rotten boards, condoms, construction helmet, women's panties, canister, pieces of polyethylene, old sneakers, buckets, plastic glasses, pineapple stalks, beer flattened jars, torn hands of a children's transformer, broken rusted box boxes, tro-bold spoon, large fragments - And bottles, bottles, bottles ...

The picture of the festivities occurring here clearly stood in front of the mental gaze, and after a couple of minutes I gathered away from the beach, wanting to leave this shore before I was in a still life. The mood was spoiled, it seemed, completely.

But my spiritual balance was restored by my wife.

“You don’t understand anything,” she said dreamily. - Look! It’s just that a shipwreck happened here, and everyone except us died, and fragments were thrown ashore ...

And I looked at the still life with new eyes, and we again wandered along the shore, under the cries of gulls, some in this sad landscape, in harmony with a harsh sky that spared us alone - past a series of sad reminders about the dead passengers.

And three days later, going to the shore of the Gulf of Finland, I hardly restrained tears, looking at the broken box, the old sneakers, condoms, cans, a tin spoon ... And everything peered into the bottles - is there any inside the note?

But there was not a single note.

Everyone died.

2.

Or maybe someone still survived.

Because on the first night-it was a night on Sunday-from the side of the bay there was a deaf, but continuous “thought-thought-thought”, as if piles were scored.

The source of sound was undoubtedly someone's “cassette”, and “thought-thought-thoughts” was the so-called music, under which the so-called “rest” occurs in our time.

The cottage shuddered in the pre -infarction rhythm of this “music” - the walls literally trembled.

I called the reception and asked for something to do something with this midnight leisure, because in the advertisement advertising we were promised a house in pine trees near the bay, and the piles in the head for the same money were not promised at night-they did not promise.

A sweet woman on the reception said that she would try to help, but could not help. Having called back after some time, she honestly explained to me that there, on the shore, they are currently walking ...

- So call the police! - I suggested.

“So this is the police and walks,” the woman simply answered.

Curtain.