DRAIN

Summer

I

I was in a newly built area. The dogs walking there are expensive breeds. As a result, I wandered far, was tired, but acted very stupidly by spending money on a newspaper. So I would have gotten on the minibus and got back quickly, and even enjoyed a little chanson along the way, but now I have to walk. Once I was also walking, and on the screen, they had just installed it, they were playing all sorts of funny videos, I watched for two minutes and laughed several times. Apparently, he laughed so much that the girl, passing by, said: “Big fool.” I still remember it to this day. She was six years old. Big fool. I did. Even a little girl is brought up in such a way that, according to her ideas, laughing in public is considered bad. Why do they often grow up so disgustingly liberated? Because since these years, consciousness has been cultivated in them.

The bottle is rolling around on the floor. Soviet champagne is the most Soviet champagne in the entire USSR. He skates here, he skates here. There is an owl in the window. Watches the bottle roll. I also keep an eye on him and the bottle. This owl is not without reason, he is up to something. The main thing is that he won’t be able to fly inside, the window is closed. The bottle rolls faster and faster. “Darts wouldn’t hurt you,” the owl says. “This is the time to kill.”

I wake up. It’s good that I’ve never read dream books, otherwise I would now be worried about why I dream about talking owls. It’s still early, probably about three in the morning. Oh, even two. But you still need to buy darts. How much can I spend? I'll fork out the money, but I'll buy it.

If any thought has imposed itself, I will not get rid of it. But the most disgusting thing is that I won’t sleep anymore. My thoughts are my creepers. The library was named after Yeltsin. Many years later, historians would suggest that Yeltsin might have been able to read, since the library was named after him.

When classmates (well, former ones) asked what I was studying there, I was offended by their tone and deliberately misinterpreted their lectures from the history of the book, something like this, for example: in India it was customary to write on elephants. Elephants walked the streets and people could read books and laws written on them. Prince Mahaphari had a personal library of fifty elephants. In Medieval Germany, books were embossed on iron sheets by blacksmiths. Leonardo da Vinci was famous for his own paper recipe: he invented a composition that included fish bones, sawdust, captured enemy banners and ground cow jaws - this provided the paper with incredible strength. It is known that We Yi Lenin wrote secret letters with special ink made from tea. The first typewriters appeared in the USSR; The sound of their work was invented by the composer Sergei Prokofiev - the sound of the typewriter was supposed to remind of the shots of war. These days, books are written in Microsoft Word; It is known that Daria Dontsova uses a paperclip assistant, and Boris Akunin uses a dog assistant.

Wait, why am I there... yes, there’s still plenty of time, the store is still closed. I'll go and shave for now. What to do next? Well, let's use the TV, since there's nothing else.

Yes, I'm lucky. "Me and others"! Me and others, hell is others, me and hell. What color is the pyramid? When asked, we cannot repaint it. When we can, they don’t ask.

Or they ask, but we’re not listening.

II

I fell asleep again. I dreamed of a dacha, I often dream of a dacha. Everything was somehow different there, and I was practically healthy. I was going to the store for something... wow, it was noon! But I don’t care about time, I’m almost free. I won't go anywhere, I don't care about darts.

Albert Camus would have described it better. He would have added that now I went out onto the balcony and began to eat chocolate, and then spent the evening with a beautiful girl. In fact, I am alone (like a finger), and I have nothing to eat. You can go to the dacha. No, I don't want to.

Our city is a swamp. Built on a swamp, and no different.

What am I talking about? Oh yes, I need to think about how I will continue to live, what I should do with myself. I don't really want to work. If you think about it carefully, all I want is to lie on the sofa and look at the wallpaper. I don't know when it happened, but life passed me by. Maybe... no, I don’t even know approximately. It's as if I've always been like this. I remember myself from the age of six, I don’t remember before - and then I was definitely already unsociable. My favorite pastime was to crawl under the sofa and lie there, looking at the wallpaper. They haven't changed since then, it seems.

I wish I had sleeping pills so I could sleep normally. But you have to go to the doctor, no, no way.

It’s already evening, and I haven’t done anything at all today, I didn’t even have any thoughts. I owed it all along, but now it’s like I’ve paid it off. What kind of debt was this? Probably my duty was that I did everything that life offered me... well, I didn’t touch it, in general. That's why life stopped offering. I don’t need anything, I always wanted to have my own corner, and not have anyone bother me. I think everyone wants this, but they won’t calm down right away, they need to drag things there, money, then have children - after all, if a person lives alone, then he doesn’t seem to live.

For whom did Dante write his “Paradise”, because I want to know everything about hell, who am I to aim at heaven?

But if you think about it, I don’t want to know anything about hell either. I don't want to know anything at all. Our education discourages any desire to know, it teaches us to guess. We have toy education. It seems to me that there is very little knowledge, generally only one thing: that death exists, and more knowledge is no longer needed, just useless thoughts.

The father rips giant clumps of dust from the carpet from the floor. He launches his hand, and it falls into the carpet, and then there are lumps, gray ones, dust. “You see, son, there is no place to hang yourself in this apartment. You can check!

What else was this for?

The worst thing is that I keep having dreams. I'm dreaming about something. But my father tells the truth, he never lied to me.

III

I usually wake up early. At six in the morning, maybe even at five. Today it was twenty minutes to six when I woke up. I thought about what I had achieved in life. It turned out that there were no achievements.

However, looking at all this, I see that I don’t need anything. How did it happen that everything turned out this way? It’s as if life is an instant lottery, and the lottery operator is disposing of my money without asking: “For this ticket? Let's get to this one!" - I don’t care, put it where you want. And so it happened.

Yes, I never knew what I wanted. I wanted to move away somewhere and not participate in anything. I remember they were playing ball at the dacha, my sister (second cousin or something; I haven’t seen her for a hundred years) dragged me too, I didn’t want to. I stood up somewhere and said, “Well, let’s do it already,” and everyone laughed. I look - I got up in the dirt. A sarcastic comment, like, I could only get into the dirt. Keep it simple. How much easier can it be? It's not my fault that you can't go anywhere.

I would like to write books. Well, I would write about how the hero’s hair began to rot. It’s possible in the first person, they say, it’s me that’s rotting, it’s possible that it’s rotting in another character’s, and “I” was a witness: how my hand fell into the unfortunate man’s head, everything there had already rotted, and the pus itself would be described naturalistically. I just don't want, I don't want anything.

“Imagine having to tell your life in two hours!”

Two minutes is enough for me. There is nothing to remember - neither good nor bad. You know, two minutes is too much for me. Born, went to school. All. I didn’t want to make friends, my mother treated me badly.

“You have a certain amount of ambition, but you lack drive.”

I'm not arguing. I'm not arguing.

Everyone should love their mother.

I'm not arguing.

I'm not a nihilist. A nihilist is defined by his actions. If you blow your nose into a curtain, then perhaps you are a nihilist.

IV

Totally boring. I'll go for a walk to the embankment. One. This is a very interesting idea. Only later: it’s cold in the morning. However, it will be very hot later. Well, it's already very hot. The bus is like being in a steam room. Someone over there is reading a detective story. Someone wants it to be abstract, as abstract as possible, like painting, as if it were real art. Why did I drag myself, I would have stayed at home.

No, I'm bored! Now worry. This is also a trend - to put a monitor on a bus and play different clips. Well, there’s how someone crashed into someone, or funny animals, or strange cartoons reminiscent of the hallucinations of a drug addict. Oh yes. It's just a style, and it has a right to exist. Everything has a right to exist, we live in an era of acceptance.

Here is the embankment. I think it’s no coincidence that “Lovers’ Bridge” is the most popular place for suicides. They razed the embankment, God forbid everyone. Not an embankment - a muzzle! You can go down smoothly, you can take a walk here, it’s sunny, civilization, culture, optimism. Everything is for the better in the best city on Earth!

Weddings are taking place. And they are not hot. Something there... oh, well, yes, you need to make a wish. I’ve already seen two weddings, that’s already two wishes. But it was probably already too late; I had to make a wish without losing sight. Well, okay. I don’t even have anything to guess. But I’ve never been to a wedding and, it’s clear, I won’t get to it. Probably, the structure of a wedding is, so to speak, similar to a graduation. At school, I did a completely moronic thing - I came to the graduation, well, that is, my parents paid a lot of money, and I sat for a little while and then left. I tried two dishes of meat - well, what kind of dishes are there, just to kill a worm, so I tried it and left. I couldn’t look at these beautiful young people. They have a busy life. And now I feel sorry for the money. There was no need to give up. I threw away my parents’ money and I won’t get it back.

And nature has been greatly pushed aside. Serves her right. Wonderful landscape! I’ll describe it poetically: here it is, a beautiful river stretched out like a brown puddle! And how brightly the sunlight is reflected in the green glass of the bottles floating in abundance along its current, as if they were schools of fish, and how gracefully the homeless people lie on the other bank, how aesthetically pleasing the fat man with a naked torso walking in front of me looks! A heavenly picture appeared before my sinful eyes.

Yes, we are a perfect province. Here there are weddings, limousines, obscenity two steps away, and on the other side there are homeless people sunbathing. Although, probably, in Moscow this is also very common, but for some reason it catches our eye.

I don’t want to go back down that road - I’ll come across weddings again, and there are happy people there, I don’t want to look at them. Of course, I had to make a big detour, but at least I came home tired, at least I could sleep normally.

V

In the morning I stood in the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and, peering into its emptiness, thought about poetry. I asked myself: what is poetry anyway?

I came to the conclusion that rhyme and rhythm are all superficial and unnecessary, or rather, cannot be an identifying feature. There is, of course, the word “defining,” but it is too simple and not suitable for thoughts about poetry. So, I think I found a definition (or maybe they found it before me again, but in any case, I didn’t see it anywhere): poetry is showing off. If there is a show off, then it can be done without rhyme, without rhythm, as long as the show off is there. Then poetry.

Today I’ll go into the yard and sit on a bench. This is such entertainment. Like an old man. Previously, the alcoholic Uncle Kolya sat in this place. He was still lame. Now he doesn’t leave the house at all. Why sit here? What's the point? Oh, Petya went out for a walk. There is something wrong with his development, Down syndrome, maybe, I don’t know.

- Are you sitting? - he drawls out so disgustingly, but he’s a sick guy, it’s not his fault.

“I’m sitting,” I answer.

- I'll go to Moscow! - boasts.

“Well, I’m happy for you,” I want to answer him good-naturedly, but I can’t.

“To join the police,” he continues to boast, “to work, apparently, he dreams of joining the police.”

“Uh-huh, okay, yes,” I answered somehow too indifferently.

He seemed a little offended and went to the next door. What actually happened? Am I to blame? I felt a little ashamed, the way you feel ashamed in front of a dog when you rudely drive it away. But even this is out of cowardice, not for real. Although, I think, if you are ashamed, it is always from cowardice. Or so it seems to me only when I was young. I just can’t express this thought (and is it even necessary to express such thoughts?). It’s better if it remains such an inarticulate clot, like, I didn’t even understand what I was thinking. It’s just... in fact, we hold such a person like a dog, well, on the same level as a dog - he’s a fool, what can we take from him. We all evaluate it this way, it’s just that some suffer from it more, others less. In the West, some publicists want to prove that these are people too, and these publicists even seem to be able to instill feelings of guilt, well, like treating a dog. Successful, in a word. In general, a publicist is a person who shouts truisms louder than others. The more obvious things a publicist writes, the more successful he will become. If you write about politics, you should limit yourself to the phrases “Stop stealing from the treasury” and “Corruption is a crime,” and the publicist will immediately become read and respected. You can write about all sorts of life topics - our people have so little life around them that they also read about it - well, they didn’t raise money for a child’s operation, and he died, but you should be ashamed! Or they built a parking lot on some place there, well, where the cultural center was supposed to be built. That is: you need to write about the fact that bad is bad, but it should not be bad, but good, and this is the meaning of journalism.

No, in fact, I overheated in the sun and didn’t see the reason: I didn’t “talk to him badly” because he was sick, but because I forgot how to talk to people - and maybe it was harmful to be left alone so suddenly?

Or maybe not, I just don’t want to see someone else’s illness.

At school. “These are your best years! You let it all slip through your fingers...” It wasn’t addressed to me, but I took it personally at the time. I take it all personally. However, I definitely missed something. After all, I could participate in TV shows, tell the story of fishing: the famous fisherman of the Renaissance was Leonardo da Vinci. He invented a fishing rod to which up to eighteen hooks could be attached. This fishing rod went down in history as Leonardo's Fishing Rod, and is now kept in the Louvre. Few people know that the inventor of the spinning rod was the Swedish physicist Marcus Spinningson. And in the USSR, Khrushchev was fond of fishing. Legend has it that he once caught such a fish on an ear of corn.

Any lie in a scientific wrapper is no longer a lie, but a REN-TV program.

—What is your favorite book?

— “Notes from the Underground.”

-Who wrote it?

- Gogol.

And he believes, he believes.

- What is it about?

“There was a man locked in the basement, and we don’t know who or why.” We don't even know his name.

- Ahh. Clear.

And it's nothing she doesn't know. This is not the main thing in life.

Old bathtub. There is gray minced meat at the bottom of the bath. What a horror, it makes me sick, there are already kilograms and kilograms of it here. Mom is somewhere above your ear: “This is cat food, are you completely crazy?” Cat food?

This dream can be explained: I eat cheap crap.

VI

I looked at the prices in the store and thought: what do we know about economics? Does anyone know something? If I were asked to tell something about economics, I would tell how a sparrow once flew into Karl Marx’s beard. In the end, I left the basket near the cheese shelves and left without purchasing anything, trying to maintain my posture so that the guard would not suspect that I had stolen anything.

I went to look at the schedule. The conductor on the bus is a seven-pounder. There are a lot of passengers, for some reason only old women.

“And her neighbor got divorced then, and the child stayed with her.”

- But. I remember.

“I’m already taking seven pills now, in the morning it’s like a veil before my eyes...

- Oh, don't tell me.

“Tamarochka suggested this variety to me and brought it to me, but before I didn’t have any, but now...

- Dear, guess what?

The child shouts over all the old women:

“And then he strangled him in the head!” Remember what we watched?

With such a ringing voice.

- You better sing to grandma. Your voice is loud and good. Sing...

It’s impossible not to listen - they’re all loud. Such a phrase flies into my head as if it were my home, it settles down like a master and fattens there until another similar one kicks it out. But it was still very stuffy, and my legs were numb to stand.

I got off two stops early; it was unbearable to go any further.

I don’t go all the way: when I used to play chess with my father, and I saw that in two moves I was facing inevitable checkmate, I gave up, and my father was angry with me for this. However, just give my dad a reason. I remember being angry with me for voting for Zhirinovsky. And I told him: yes, I’m a joker. Still angry.

And it looks like I'm totally into it.

Winter

I

The only thing I don’t like about our winter is that you can see the icy spit. You walk, and the whole road is strewn with spit. It's because I'm looking at my feet. Where else to look. Gloomy skies the color of my uncle's car. Spit is found in abundance everywhere, I live in the wrong area. Isn't that the case? It's unlikely to be any different. In the summer it’s different, now, now everything is like a dream. As in a dream I woke up, as in a dream I unlearned, as in a dream I return, looking at the spittle. Look around, raise your head, life is not only spitting, this is what we have here, so, life is not only spitting, it’s also that rusting Volga, that lamppost over there and those thirty-year-old houses over there. The one who doesn’t want to notice doesn’t notice; the one who wants to, will invent it for himself. Whatever you want, they will invent for themselves. Here I am practically at home.

- The music was screaming again in the morning! I knocked, didn’t you dogs open the door?

Let him shout to himself, I didn’t turn on that music. In pursuit, curses fall like seeds. There are different circumstances in life, in the summer I lived alone, now everything has worked out for them, and my adult son is somehow not the same, and it’s good, a change of environment is only good for me, in cramped conditions, but it’s such luck, such luck that I ended up here, there are such people here! Take this frame for example. Should I have some tea? Oh well, then again. And I’m learning again, I’m not completely a slacker, knowledge is a benefactor. Benefactor? The fact that strength was later distorted, at first it was a blessing... give... detel... how was it there? I can’t understand, I can’t get into my soul. Those who climb take a mirror with them so that they can look at their reflection in someone else’s soul and admire the Apollonianness of their worldview. I am Apollonian, they are Dionysian. They crawl over other people's souls like centipedes, and their crawling is called wandering. And this one, below, it seems, he has small children, so he reacts so sharply to everything. He has children, this is natural, he worries about keeping things quiet, this is natural, but what is natural is not interesting. In the old cartoon: “What am I? I’m okay!”; Nowadays: “Yes, I am like that!”, Everyone has a sense of self-esteem, this is democracy, Gorbachev invented this. Pride is also being invented, I think in Skolkovo the work is in full swing, brains are boiling, the ice has started, the process has begun.

Short days for my short thoughts. People made of paper - made of paper, and, perhaps, from newspaper. Chanson, rap, Bell soda, leisure, scanwords, playing on the phone, riding a nine. A proud man will soon appear; by 2015, pride will be indexed by fifteen percent, by 2020 - by another five.

For some reason I stayed too long eating sandwiches. Dinner must be given to the enemy, so I ate it all myself. In the neighbor’s room, of course, the TV was blaring, news, incidents, an accident happened, everyone died, lion cubs were born at the zoo, the president went to an economic forum. Love your thoughts almost as much as you love others. The thoughts that you read are already yours. And in the neighbor's room the TV is still blaring. I wonder if he pays extra for having a bed, or if he took that room because he moved in earlier? Or maybe, since he is a relative, then... everything is still complicated here: we rent this apartment in half, me and Artyom, each have their own room (he has a larger room), and Artyom is his mother’s friend’s son, and the owner of the apartment, Petrovich, is her mother’s friend’s stepfather, so Artyom is like his grandson. In short, it’s better not to ask about additional payments. It’s like this: asking Petrovich is more important to you, you give him his word, he’s a hundred and twelve to you. On other days, of course, there is a moratorium on particularly profuse word-throwing, then eighty-four. When and how. Every week he comes and checks to see if the cleaning has been done, if anything is missing, everything like that. He himself lives in another apartment, he has a one-room apartment somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Also ask him. You won't find a room anywhere at this price! All over the city, whatever, I guarantee it! I guarantee it! Cheap, yes. Because through acquaintance. I wonder if he has always been like this, or if there was some kind of trauma? Egg or chicken? If they ask me, I will answer that cockroaches appeared first. When I was a child, we had them in our apartment. I opened the bookcase and a cockroach ran out to me. How angry I was! I didn’t calm down until I beat him with a volume of Dunno. Dad appreciated it later. He probably said then, laughing:

- A book is the best weapon!

He would say so. They now have a second youth. Live what you are. I understand that I’m just getting in the way, I’m even glad that everything has worked out for you again, and... and me too, I’m a student, and you made peace again, and live, and I’m here, and it’s cheap, a room, a neighbor - almost the same age. He has a full bed in his room, and I have a folding chair. It's good that it's not a folding bed. And thanks for that. Would it be even cheaper if there was a folding bed? But I won’t ask, it’s better not to talk to him at all. Who knows why it jammed. Popular opium is always without a prescription. If the mother suddenly comes to check on her, what just doesn’t occur to her, and if it turns out that Petrovich comes to check his apartment that same day, and they meet, and then the mother then secretly asks her friend:

“Listen, haven’t you noticed that this stepfather of yours, who rents out rooms to our boys, is... a little... peek-a-boo?”

Cuckoo. No, she won’t ask that, she’ll rather say “crazy.” Peek-a-boo is more of a children's language.

- What are you, a fool?

- What are you doing, cuckoo?

- What are you doing, at all?

These are childish questions. Okay, it's time to go to bed. It's time to know the honor. It's time to hit the road. It's time, let's rejoice, thousand devils. Avant-garde ensemble Mikhail Boyarskiy and the Canailles. Mikhail Boyarskiy and One Thousand Devils. Mikhail Boyarskiy and the Black Hat Orchestra. No, I can't sleep. Since it’s neither here nor there, we might as well make some tea and sit in the kitchen some more. And definitely hot! Felix Edmundovich, break it. What do you want at my house? The whole day will again be like in a dream when you don’t sleep at night. Read? Yes, you can read Johann Fichte and then in conversations (with yourself) thoughtfully add “But Johann Fichte and I believe that...”.

Once, I also remember, I was sitting like that in the evening having tea, and Artyom went to the club to dance, or whatever, and I was sitting and drinking tea, it was already about nine in the evening, and Petrovich dragged himself in so late, they say, an alarming thought had come to him: had the apartment burned down?

No, it turns out it hasn't burned out yet. And he then said:

- Well... there are such premonitions! Didn't you have any of these?

“I don’t remember,” I replied then.

And he:

“We need to sprinkle it with holy water,” he says.

I took out a bottle of Coca-Cola from the cupboard, there was probably this holy water poured there, well, I poured a little into my palm, then splashed it in the corners as best I could. Then he closed the cap and respectfully put the bottle back in the cupboard.

“Holy water,” he explains. “My mother, the deceased, somehow her flowers withered, and she watered them with holy water, and they bloomed again... I often see her, the deceased, in my dreams, flying up to me like an angel, in such a white blouse, there is no such white color in nature, so white - with both blue and yellow... and says: “I went to rest.” Eh... you know the saying: “It’s either good or nothing about the dead,” it’s said for a reason. You need... you need to treat people humanely, how much a person has to endure... these are the people in the clinic who check the tests... as I think about it... Lord, Lord!

And another time he admitted that he wanted to write a book about the divine. I asked him when he would start, and he apparently answered me with a pre-prepared phrase:

- When I'm ready. This book must ripen in me, like corn ripens in the fields.

And when I moved in, he found out that I was a student and was very approving of this. He even began to rant about education, well, in his own manner:

— Gaining knowledge is commendable. But we need... we need to spread knowledge throughout the world. Sow, and you will become a Sower. Sower is one of the names of God, God is the Great Sower, the Merry Sun.

Why did you remember? But I can’t sleep, all sorts of nonsense is creeping into my head. Yes, I would be glad to sleep normally, but I can’t, I’m drunk on tea. Since I am considered untalented for writing, I can comment on other people’s books, and in every place where I disagree with the author, I will make a three-paragraph comment, explaining that the author is a fool, but I am a different matter. But this is not serious, everyone here is their own commentators, editors, writers and readers. Author - Vasily Petrov. Editor: Vasily Petrov. Notes by Vasily Petrov. Printed at the expense of Vasily Petrov by Vasily Petrov for Vasily Petrov.

I want to sleep, but I can’t. Not tired. Because I'm not tired. So you don't want to eat. Sandwiches for breakfast, sandwiches for dinner, and a small pizza for lunch at a diner. Champion's diet.

II

Almost twenty years. Twenty years, twenty years! I’ll take a passport photo, I took a comb with me on purpose. Photo studio? Photo corner. Photographer in an argyle sweater, taking photos is very easy, click, walk for five minutes, hold the photo.

— Will you take pictures?

- No, drink tea.

Great joke! So sparkling! I believe: Petrosyan died in me. Perhaps more than once. When you receive your passport, don’t close it when you go home so that the ink dries, otherwise, at the age of fourteen, you closed it right away and it got smudged. On the street, neighbor Artemka comes towards me. Great, hi, can you go out somewhere tonight? Go to the cinema. A girl is supposed to come to me today. Taller than me: two meters in heels. But strange. She admitted that she likes Hitler. Well, on the outside. So, are you going? At my expense, that goes without saying. You can also go with someone, I’ll give you money normally.

I don’t want to go to the cinema, I say. But I’ll go, so be it. Out of male solidarity. But you too, I warn him, speak at least a couple of days in advance. Otherwise, next time I’ll stay and shout something loudly in German from behind the wall, I can do that.

We agreed, and I took money from him for the movie: like from my older brother, I think. Then he thought about something and walked past the beggar with money in his hand. Only then did I notice. Well, I wouldn’t give anyway: alms, they corrupt. I never gave to the beggars at all; for some time there were a lot of beggars, then it decreased, and now there are a lot again. They have their own mafia. The beggars have a mafia, and the homeless people collect bottles.

But I served it to drunks twice. Once I got off the bus, at the stop the drunk asked for two rubles, I gave exactly two rubles. And another time, also on the same street, another drunk asked for money, and I gave ten rubles. At first I reproached myself, but then I thought that I had done the right thing. He pushed the falling man.

However, we are all like that - falling ones.

At home, over sandwiches (you have to eat before the movie), I looked at my passport photos. This is what they are like now. Colored steels. And more. And those are the mafia. What was yours is now ours. As a childhood alcoholic, Uncle Kolya was teased. Kolya, Kolya, Nikolasha: what was yours is now ours. He's lame and won't catch up. And at school they made fun of a classmate in a completely good-natured manner: he sat in front of us in class, and under the collar of his jacket (and many of us wore suits to school) such a fold of fabric was formed, and our task was to throw small pieces of paper into this fold, a niche, or something, as discreetly as possible, so that he would not notice. And it was very difficult. But it’s funny and not offensive somehow, well, we thought so, that it’s not offensive.

It's worse here because the view from the windows is not very good. Now Artemka is back. Shines. Everyone is in anticipation. At least, he says, only Petrovich didn’t show up to check today. Well, he shouldn't, but he can. And he was like, obviously he has the keys, he can sneak up and eavesdrop. So what, I can’t listen in? Or whatever it was. There is a spider, but there is a bathhouse. If we... what is he saying there, I didn't listen. Ah, everyone is looking forward to it. Yes. Yeah. Do we have discounts on champagne anywhere in supermarkets here? There are no advertisements at the entrance, just some free newspaper, advertisements. Ads free cheap. Oh, text message from her. Listen, what is our house number? And you don't remember? Okay, I tell him, I’ll watch TV for now, and then go to the cinema. That's why we didn't vote on this law. There are both pros and cons, but we didn’t vote. And that's right. If I were a deputy, I wouldn’t vote on any law either. Others accepted it, but I just watched. It was others who were smoking, and I was standing next to them.

I went to the cinema by bus. He didn’t give up his seat to the fat woman.

- So I will stand, and you will sit? — My reasoning is always ironclad.

“Stand up and give me your seat,” he literally demands.

“I paid for the ticket,” I say. “And you don’t have to give in.” Do you think I'm worse than you?

- No, is he taking me for a fool? - appeals to the public. Well, there were no drunken bigots on the bus.

- No, you are the one holding me by the sleeve now.

For some reason, the soda in the cinema buffet is warm. I say: “What, there’s no cold one?” And the cashier: “Now I’ll drop everything and go cool it for you.”

He'll give up everything. Now I’ll drop everything and go buy you a scoop. Or whatever it was. I watched the movie and was surprised that there were so many people. Sometimes it seems to me, when something happens around me, that I am them. That is, that my personality is so lost in the general that only the general remains, but excuse me, this general is not me. For the sake of the general, sacrifice the personal. Donate to the temple, and donate to Mercedes. Team! Under Soviet rule, people would have been shamed at school. Everyone is a collectivist, but this one, you see, is an individualist. I get a white ticket! Carlson! Where is your comrade Engelson?

III

Where are you going? I'm going to the store. You can't go like this. What's wrong? You haven't shaved. Shave, and then go. What are you doing? Why shave? For the sake of the saleswoman? For your own sake. And at least for the sake of the saleswoman: is the saleswoman not a person? And if I’m unshaven, am I also not a person? Maintain forms of decency. Give up your seats, give to the poor, shave before going for bread. Let everyone through, give in to anyone, live for the sake of others.

In the summer it was better alone, even now it’s easier with unfamiliar people. The less we know a person, the better we think about him. Artemka returned with dumplings, apparently he was just in the store.

So, did he shave before going to the store? Yes, it looks like he's shaved.

Petrovich came in the evening, and they bargained about payment. Artemka was indignant:

- Fear God!

And this is Petrovich’s favorite topic:

- Why should I fear God? Tell me, is God so terrible that you should be afraid of him? God is happiness, God is love, who is afraid of his own happiness?

- Why are you all talking about Foma, and I’m talking about Yerema... I’m telling you the real deal...

- Is this your god Erema? - Petrovich was angry. - Don't blaspheme! Businessman! You think about everything just to save money, you don’t worry about your soul at all! What do you think, tell me, God - where is he? Is God in each of us? Not at all! From here. Further, not in everyone. Like this. Yes, not in everyone!

And again, let's bargain and get even. Count. The first are burnt, the second are golden, the first are on a tank, the second are on a toadstool, the fourth are chasing sausage in the forest. The fifth ones are mustachioed, the sixth ones are fools.

Petrovich left, completely angering Artemka. “I want to take it and hit him over the head with something heavy when he starts to show off. He came, and let’s rob your own grandson so God-fearingly! I’ll move out, but I’ll still hit him in the face.”

In words, we are all Jackie Chans.

- So what, he says that you are a grandson! As our people say: you meet someone by their clothes. I think: well, you creature, you definitely understand people!

Expert of the people.

“You freak, of course, money doesn’t spoil you...” Artemka continues, and I listened again. - Eh, dog-dog. You sure as hell aren’t listening to me, are you tired?

“No, I’m listening,” I lie.

“I’ll probably call my mother.” Otherwise it would have been like that all around.

Who owes whom? How much do I owe? When will my debt be paid (and the light will be mine)? I can see everything in my hand. You will live eighty years. Yeah, and the work will be prestigious, and no government house for you, no exit for you on duty, I wish you health, comrade captain, and Serving the Fatherland. Because a military man - here he is, please. I will never sew an axel, I will never walk around the city in an axel. Why never? What if there is war? Who is our cannon fodder here? And with whom to fight? My grandfather fought with the Germans. Yes? And mine is against them.

IV

Today I ate sausage in dough at a diner. So this is a sausage in dough, but there are no sausages, they shove the sausage. The pleasure is doubtful. For special gourmets. At the dacha says:

“When they call me to eat, I never say no.” I answer: “It depends.” My grandmother said to me: “Are you going to eat?”, and I said: “It depends.”

It's up to you to choose. You can shop around as much as you want when you have a choice. I went to eat berries from my neighbors. Aren't my lips blue? It was the best summer. Despite everything, the best memories. Although the following years were boring.

It is easiest to hurt someone who considers himself to be the strongest.

What day is it today? Today is Tuesday.

Evil sits in my soul, thoughts of evil, blind, blind evil. Murders, pity - this happens in another world, grief that did not affect me - this is not grief, these are news headlines. It's fashionable to be a cynic. Dog hunters. They scold the door frame when they hit it. There is a lot of good, but not enough evil, if one oppresses one thing, I must persecute the opposite. Evil is real, they didn’t see it in the West (and for us it’s not interesting), it is directed inward, evil is internal, good is for show. In Soviet Russia, comrades will always find dust in the eyes. I haven’t been able to sleep properly in the evenings for many weeks, it’s a strange apartment, you’re a tenant, take care of hygiene, think fifty times, shave carefully, make sure you don’t puke. You live with people. When one, one might say, does not live, we live for others, when two meet, these are two vanities meeting. Multiplication of personalities, one American, he has dozens of personalities. In our country, on the contrary, all the poets, and at the same time the cops and bandits, are embodied in one person. They give me thoughts, TV, parents, evil.

And soon New Year. We’ll probably drink in the kitchen with Artemka. Then fireworks, the president’s speech, in reverse. Dinner is shared. You, he’ll say, buy tangerines, and I’ll make Olivier. The name Olivier went to the salad, the name of a world-famous scientist went to the microbe, my name went to the Russian notebook of a ninth grade student. The worst thing is if your parents call you on New Year's Eve. How to refuse? How people say “yes” or “no”, if I could, I would choose all my life. And I never chose. They have invented many different types of hell, in the east they believe in a cold hell, a hot hell and a hell of loneliness, this is the most fantastic, it is clearly impossible on earth (Where. On earth). Hell of loneliness, what hell it is when you know that people live behind the wall. Last winter I went into a bookstore, and from the doorway I said:

- Can I tell you anything?

I answer, I’ll take a look for now, and then I look: what a shame, a bird pooped on my shoulder, I walked a couple of steps, and she immediately noticed how I entered. I wiped it off with a glove, but the stain still remained. A bird - a dove - is a symbol of God, God is on me... God is on me... Whoever does not believe in God is still only half an unbeliever, a complete unbeliever is someone who does not believe in man.

Artemka found a funny photo from their family archive and showed it to me. The spitting image of Caesar, I answer. Didn't you get it? He does two things at once, I say. Ahh. Exactly. Need to increase it.

No, here we need to paint a picture based on Pushkin’s poetry. Religion allows Petrovich to eat and cut his nails at the same time. Portrait of an efficient man.

- Do you want some advice, just in a friendly way? - Artemka.

- Well, come on.

“Take what’s yours and do as you please.” That's the only way. Ты… тебе на все разрешение нужно просить, пока не разрешат, ты шагу не сделаешь. А ты не спрашивай, делай, что тебе нужно, не спрашивай никого. В жизни все так, кто наглей, тот и прав.

И чайку прихлебнул. Он прав, но не признавать же это ему в лицо.

V

Паспорт забирал сегодня, огромная очередь, вся лестница в людях, все–такие же в основном, двадцатилетние, по одному — никого, все компаниями, ключи от машин в руках вертят. Вот каким ты должен был стать к двадцати годам. Те времени не теряли, это я годами разбрасывался. Не поздно ли начинать жить в двадцать лет? Ведь, собственно, это и есть жизнь, если с людьми, в обществе. Они своего не упустят, они времени не теряли, время ушло от меня, время идет для них.

Жизнь кажется скучной, если каждый день встречаешь знакомых людей. Если бы каждый день это были люди разные, было бы интереснее. Поэтому, я убежден, и стали организовывать карнавалы.

Он пишет, в сознании здорового и свободного человека нет места для случайностей. Покажите мне такого человека. Покажите человека. Это человек. При свете лампочки мою руки. Мыло сушит кожу. Сухой климат. Здоровый человек, пышущий здоровьем, он не станет хозяйственным мылом руки мыть. Сушит кожу, сухой климат, пейте какао. Здорового человека нет. Свободного человека нет. Человека нет. There is no God. Ничего нет, есть только стены из мыслей и мысли, запертые в стенах, и на улице снег валит, и мои мысли ничтожные, измученные, мысли-калеки, мысли калеки, нелепица, падающего толкни, толкни мои мысли, мысли толкни. Normal person. Они были там, нормальные люди. Я построю стену из своих мыслей, со стороны это будет карточный домик, я назову его «Райский уголок» и буду там жить.

A piece of paradise. Уголок райский, если это свой уголок. Райский — только уголок, адский — целый город. Целый город не рад мне, не рад мне памятник кошкам, не рад Ильич, не рада кондукторша: когда я захожу в автобус, кондукторша не радуется мне. Почему мне плохо сегодня? Я ходил получать паспорт.

На другой день Петрович нам набросок для его книги о божественном зачитывал. Тут совсем немного, сказал. Как распускается цветок, так и ты вместе с ним распускайся утром, и пусть каждое утро для тебя станет новой жизнью. Бабочки живут один день, будь, как они, новая жизнь ждет нас каждый день, ложась спать, мы умираем, чтобы возродиться утром. How do you like it? Это будет начало главы. Yes, yes. Есть в этом что-то, вру. That's what I think. Это цельная мысль. Спасибо, что выслушали. Left. Он на своем положении может так почитать, если я напишу что-то, я даже если и предложу выслушать, то потом читать не стану. Я могу, но не стану. Потому что я о себе, и никогда об общем, потому что общее — это для всех, а я — это только для меня, другого я у меня не будет, так что интересно ли, неинтересно ли в этом я ковыряться, а ничего другого не остается.

Мы — это то, чего мы хотим, тот, кто хочет того, что может сбыться, не стоит ничего, только тот, чье желание никогда не сбудется, заслуживает внимания. Хотеть возможного — это, если хотите, пошло. Невозможность — шлагбаум на пути моего хотения, настоящее невозможно, я хочу сказать, что плохо только настоящее. Любое прошлое хорошо, любое будущее чудесно, потому что их уже (еще) нет. Чего нет, то может быть уже каким мы хотим, в конце концов, они вечны, отсюда такая ностальгия, тоска по прошлому, тоска по будущему, потому что они ненастоящие, потому что они — не настоящее. Мы идеализируем, потому что мы не там, мы были, есть и будем тут. Бесполезное прошлое. Ну как напоминание о том, что жизнь нас не спрашивает. Куда мы не можем вернуться, кем мы не можем стать. Невозможно и Никогда. Так устроено. Так уж устроено. Что уж поделаешь.

Ты надо мной издеваешься. Меня мучает. Он не хочет мне помогать! Ты издеваешься. Это ее любимое слово было. Я над ней издеваюсь. Она это и отцу, чуть что. Любимое слово. Накапай ей этого, как его. Нет, нашатырный она нюхает, его пить нельзя, сынок, ты смотри мне. Вылей иди. Из головы вылетело. Чего там она пьет? Корвалол, что ли. Иди накапай. Чуть что. Чуть что. Такие сцены. Теперь помирились. Вернулись туда, откуда ушли. Как хорошо, что день заканчивается.

VI

Thirty-one. Артемка искусственную елку в своей комнате поставил. У нас никогда искусственных не было, всегда были настоящие, дядя Паша привозил на машине, потом иголок в ковре всегда много, но это только пока я маленький был, лет с десяти вообще без елок стало. Помню последнюю елку, отец такой веселый, ель, говорит, занеси, и я занес. Но оставаться здесь на Новый год не хочется, возвращаться домой надо. Лучше прийти сразу с утра, чтобы была возможность уйти. Ошибка в том, что я не хочу ничего менять, можно было поступить в другой город. To Moscow. Кву. Кву. А кому я нужен там? Жить в Москве. I live in Moscow. Подъеду на метро. Где родился, там и пригодился, я не пригодился, это так, глупые фантазии, я же знаю, что никогда никуда не уеду. Никогда никуда.

Не хочу ничего менять, так возможно, это национальная черта, мне просто хочется, чтоб меня не трогали, я не хочу ничего. Проблемы в семье не должны расстраивать, нужно жить самостоятельно. Снег коричневый на земле лежит, рыхлый, шины его таким делают, с утра небо уже серое, и я домой иду, незваный, без подарка, потому что некуда. Когда мне хорошо, на моей голове как будто такая шапочка. Very rarely. Скука, потому что людей не видишь, а людей не видишь, потому что поговорить не о чем. Как будто все вокруг играют и обсуждают только эту игру, а я не играю и потому не могу обсудить, я не знаю правил, не умею играть, только из вежливости могу спросить, поддержать разговор, но вообще-то мне все равно, не хочу я, один год кончится, другой год начнется, только не для меня все это, подъезд мой. Не хочу заходить, сяду пока на лавочку. Возможно, они еще спят. Раньше я видел разные сны, теперь редко, раньше я читать любил, теперь — не знаю даже, Иоганн Фихте, почитать Иоганна Фихте, почитатели Иоганна Фихте, ясный, как солнце, Иоганн Фихте. В книгах ответов не найдешь, в жизни — тем более. Нытье и жалобы самому себе на самого себя, еще бы, такого, такую обузу терпеть, себя выносить невыносимо. С прогулки Петя-дурачок возвращается, больная улыбка, он же даун вроде как, он не виноват, настроение новогоднее у него.

— Привеееет!

— Привет, Петя. What's new with you?

— Подааарки!

Подарки ему подарят, мишуре будет радоваться, это мне ничего не надо. Зашел в подъезд, новогоднее настроение с собой унес. Пойду-ка я отсюда, я должен спать лечь рано, чтобы не услышать их салютов, их радости, даун Петя живет весело, это я невесть что возомнил. По телевизору этих, как его. Который пьяный-то улетел. В баню ходит. What's his name? Кино старое. А, все равно. Бесцельное блуждание по улицам бесцельного города. В Москве. Городе на Неве! Что бы я там делал? Да не верю я в себя, я бессилен, я тревожусь.

Мне не нравится, в общем-то, вот что: необходимость совершать действия. Действия, каждое из которых повлечет за собой следующее действие. И я буду действовать, пока не умру. Кто верит в будущую жизнь — да это же неугомонные люди! Жажда деятельности, self-made men — как это противно нашему складу! Неспокойное время, интернет, тысячи людей, столько людей, и каждый совершает миллионы действий, какой же это хаос.

Это блестящая литература и какой-то там юмор. Шутки-то и я любил, я когда-то знал полно анекдотов. Но я забыл. Я и математику всю забыл. Сколько будет синус три пи на два? Uhhh. Синус это игрек, три пи на два это сколько градусов, двести семьдесят? Математика это хорошо, если ее не знаешь, это такая возможность убежать от жизни. Числа — что мне в них нравится, так это то, что они не существуют и существовать не могут. Три не существует само по себе, восемь не существует, есть только восемь чего-либо.

Я вернулся, откуда пришел. Но сюда тоже, я не знаю, не знаю, я постоянно должен метаться между крайностями, потому что посредине — негде, посредине — улица, чужая, враждебная среда, поверну назад, к родителям. Чужие мысли. Не только о птицах за четыреста. Я ведь не жалею себя, так ли? Как будто мне оставили машину, не сказав, как ей пользоваться. А кто должен был сказать? Кто тебе что должен? Никто тебе ничего не должен, это ты должен родителям, по гроб жизни им обязан. За то, что кормили тебя. Жил у них. Горит голова моя. И в Винзилях живут люди. Но они-то больные, а я просто, просто, ну, тревожность у меня разве что. Я волнуюсь, ведь каждый мой шаг имеет значение, каждый шаг вообще имеет значение, я пошел туда, пришел, развернулся, и пошел назад, развернулся и снова пошел туда, куда шел изначально, сейчас я почти дошел, и снова хочу повернуть назад. Откуда во мне эта нерешительность? Каждый шаг как-нибудь мне обернется, как-нибудь меня еще настигнет. Поймает. Каждый поступок свою цену имеет, ты не хочешь, но повышаешь ставки, это сначала игры, потом уже не игра, но разве это серьезно? Вы что, всерьез, вы что, серьезно хотите сказать, что это вот все чего-нибудь стоит?

Двадцать лет — это смешно и наивно, звучит глупо, все мои мысли звучат наивно и глупо, это молодость, это еще так только, он все поймет потом, какой был. Да ведь когда я пойму, каким был, разве я не стану тогда тем, кем я стал? Понять, что я потерял, я смогу, только когда я потеряю, но, возможно, я уже что-то потерял, возможно, мало, но, возможно, что и очень много, да и скорее не терял, а просто не приобретал нужное. Нужные знакомства, нужные навыки, нужные вещи, где твои друзья, где твои права на машину, где твоя банковская карточка, где твой аккаунт в соцсети? А если ты не хочешь участвовать во всем этом на наших условиях, то не участвуй, на своих условиях иди себе один существуй. И я пошел один существовать.

Как странно: солдат по улице идет. Или не странно, я не знаю, какие у них порядки. Солдат идет. Война начнется, он страну защищать пойдет. Да какая война-то? Ну, допустим, завтра на нас нападет Украина. Или Латвия. Или сразу — и Украина, и Латвия. Here. Он пойдет защищать Россию. И я пойду. Приедем на учебу, замполит (или кто там) спросит: «Товарищ рядовой, будете защищать матушку-Россию?». That's right! Ну, по состоянию здоровья меня могут в тылу оставить, труженик тыла, допустим, буду охранять склад с брезентом, наверняка есть такие отдельные склады для брезента, и, когда я вернусь, подожду, и, когда это военной тайной уже не будет, буду говорить в интервью, у ветеранов же часто интервью берут, и вот я буду говорить: «Это у вас, на гражданке, этот объект просто так называется складом с брезентом, у нас (у нас! У нас-с-с-c!) этот объект назывался СГБ-72/3-ЦИС», что расшифровывается как Третья (3) Городская (72) Секретная Государственная Брезентура (СГБ; а ЦИС — это ничего не значит, это для врагов дезинформация). Так и скажу. Корреспонденту. Корреспонденту? Какому, к черту, корреспонденту? Какая, к черту, война с Украиной? Что я тут (в мыслях даже) несу?

VII

Даже не заметил, как опять до дома дошел. Но пока такой настрой, менее унылый, звоню в домофон. Ти-ли, ти-ли. Ти-ли, ти-ли. Ти-ли, ти-ли. Ктоо? It's me. Ooo! Как будто радуется. А может, и в самом деле? Открыли. Я зашел, оба встречают меня, мать улыбается, отец сонный, но как будто тоже рад мне. Я с порога говорю: да я без подарка, я так зашел, а мать-то с ходу тоже: да и что, главное, ты пришел, оставайся с нами, и отец добавляет: да, это лучший подарок. Довольные, ну они пожили уже, считай, сколько? Четыре месяца вышло вроде как, а как Новый год встретишь, да и может, сгладилось все, четыре месяца, я снова теперь с ними? Двадцать лет, содержат родители, это не зазорно, я студент, как будто это деятельность, как будто там научат чему-то, а я тоже, я ж наивный, как щенок, я всему верю, им тоже верю, родные мать с отцом-то, по дому так мишура налеплена скотчем на шкафы, один-то шкаф новый, а второй еще советских времен, антресолей нет у нас, но мишура золотистая, серебристая, елки нет, убрано так все, празднично, отец, мать, все дома, я тоже снова дома, может, и останусь, кто знает, отец в шкаф лезет: выпьем ночью! Шампанское достал. В пылищи, но да ладно, еще полдень где-то, а мать уже и стаканы из сервиза достает, на стол ставит, у них там конфеты стоят, уже с таким беловатым налетом, видно, тоже несколько месяцев их держали на Новый год, да это, наверное, типично, а что, мы семья небогатая, чего тут стыдиться-то, мать говорит, хочешь, твой любимый салат приготовлю, схожу в магазин за морковью, да ладно, мама, говорю, главное, посидим все вместе, а отец говорит, давай в шахматы сыграем, тыщу лет не играли, да, говорю, давай, но я опять проиграю, да и что, ты защищай, защищай свои фигуры, ты за черных, как обычно? В кулаке по пешке зажал, какую? Правую, ты правую выбираешь всегда, а мать говорит, у нас и мандарины есть, скоро «Иронию судьбы» покажут, да, «Ирония судьбы», вот как это кино называется, а отец-то, да ну, никогда не любил, вот «Джентльмены удачи», а как, сынок, в университете, да нормально, говорю, какие там книжки посоветуешь? Я вот слышал про японца, у него сын еще больной, не читал его? Нет, папа, нет, ну и бог с ним, а кто проиграет — двадцать отжиманий, кто выиграет — конфету берет из коробки. Тааак. Аааага. Мы думали, ты не придешь, у нас тоже подарков нет. Помнишь, тебе четыре года было, мы тебе подарили магнитную азбуку, как ты ей радовался! А мы офицера двинем. Хотя, знаешь, я тебе отвертку подарю крестовую, надо? The main thing is attention!

Смотрю, на столе отцовом книжка лежит в мягкой обложке. «Книга, которая лечит». Я хочу написать книгу, которая травмирует. Книга, как я пишу книгу, песня, как мы ищем новый звук, книга, которая лечит, книга, которая. Мою книгу я не прочитаю никому, я ничего не сделаю, шах, говорит отец, мне нужно быть кем-то, зачем лгать себе, то всего и сразу, то ничего не надо, это молодость, это двадцать лет, я думаю это в двадцать лет, когда я скажу: в двадцать лет я был таким, я уже не буду помнить, каким, главное, какой я сейчас, ведь я всегда буду сейчас, а тот я, что был, он всегда будет лучше, ведь он был, а я есть. Шах, снова шах, мать салат делает на кухне, я с отцом в шахматы играю, Новый год, мишура, спокойно внешне все, но внутри разрываюсь я. Между тем, кто я есть, кем я был, кем я стану, кем я не стану, что вот я летом делать буду, а ничего, это же двадцать лет, все как будто и несерьезно, но у всех вокруг уже все сформировано в жизни, я имею в виду, круг друзей, жизнь для них это сто раз хоженая до них тропа, все для них протоптано, идут себе прямо, глядя вдаль, а я так не могу, я туда-сюда все болтаюсь, снаружи нет во мне ни одной эмоции, но внутри раскалывается голова моя, нельзя разорваться, никуда нельзя, я хочу в прошлое, за диван, я хочу быть кем-то другим, ведь тот я, что есть, у того ничего нет, и главное, чего нет, так это спокойствия, я все внутри переживаю, а это маска только такая, я с самим собой не могу быть до конца честным, я не знаю, чего я хочу, но тем, как дело обстоит сейчас, я тоже не могу быть доволен, да и может ли кто? Everyone can. Тебе только непонятно, чего надо, да и черт с тобой, а все–таки, мне нужна какая-то перемена, были бы деньги, ездить в другие города, у них-то у всех потихонечку, помаленечку, у них все неосязаемое как будто осязаемо и на столе лежит, лежит на столе свобода, и они понемногу от свободы ножиком отрезают, пойду, отрежу себе немного свободы, скажем, на полтора дня в неделю, и пойдет, и отрежет, а остальное прибережет на следующую неделю, когда побалует себя, когда побережет еще, а как же так, свобода эта лежит, сама жизнь, можно сказать, лежит, все лежит, но я ничего не беру, ведь я хочу всего, а не многого ли ты хочешь, кто же получал все и сразу, да тем более таких вещей, о которых и внятного-то ничего никто не сказал, Иоганн Фихте не сказал, но что же, что же, что решать-то, никто ничего не решил, а ты будто решать обязан, но то для всех, а я должен что-то решить для себя, как живу я — это неправильно, это всякий понимает, я себя изолировал, я настолько живу в себе, что реальная-то жизнь прошла мимо, я не догоню теперь, как догонять-то? Денег заработать, одежду купить, бриться перед походом в магазин, завести аккаунты, успешная жизнь будет, насыщенная — да к черту это все! Мой собственный пустой мирок мне дороже, это мой мирок, больше всего на свете я не хочу из него выбираться в мир настоящий, с другими людьми: каждый человек, бросив свой мирок, себя самого и предал, он от себя отказался, чтобы стать тем, кем его другие видят, а мне какое до них дело, пусть все думают, что я человек непривлекательный, вопрос в том, как существовать-то дальше, ведь на все деньги нужны, а это еще года, когда я накоплю, да еще и доучиться надо, а до тех пор… до тех пор-то как быть? Сколько нужно на год жизни? Одна только плата за квартиру сколько выйдет! Мат тебе, отец говорит, да, плохо я играю, я — отжиматься, а ты конфету бери, рраз, ддва, ттри, как я буду до тех пор разрываться между тем, чего я хочу, и что я есть на самом деле? А отказаться от такой мечты, пусть и довольно никчемной, но моей, нельзя, я хочу остаться собой, а не проекцией меня на других. Ну что ж, если для этого нужны такие усилия, если нужно преодолевать такое отношение, изоляцию и вместе с тем стесненность, что я должен для этого сделать, нет, еще партию не буду, а знаешь, пойдем, фейерверков купим? А что мне другие, другие на моем месте не были, ну, я один схожу, повидайся с матерью, иди, собирается, шарф уже взял, другие никогда не были на моем месте, я никогда не был на их месте, откуда мне узнать, что у них все плохо, и почему не считать, что на моем месте хорошо? Но ведь мне сейчас плохо, эта тревога, и голова моя горит буквально, закройся за мной, отец пошел, мать на кухне, я в комнате один остался, мне так тяжело, может, мне к врачу обратиться? Да я никогда не стану, что я сделал, что я, в сущности, сделал за полгода?

Я остался сейчас один и залез за диван.