Boots Lerysol...

Failure is our means to an end.

If no failures occur,

it means we are not innovative enough...

Elon Reeve Musk

Early in the morning there were traffic jams of children's boots, creaking and trembling behind the wooden ones. Those who are more fortunate are unloaded at the gate, others with a public line, forgotten for 5-6 lessons, do not distract from the given rhythm. Where are they from? The chosen ones came up with together, others alone with pride, a projection of themselves in the future.

They signed, with oaths, with eyes, with handshakes. Most did not. They smashed it to smithereens. Who warned? That's twenty or more until the next generation. An adult’s nervous, patient, and balanced attitude will not always endure, especially when she is still a child inside. Snow falls, wraps you up. What about them? People are still stomping along the paths, drawing shoes in the snow. The first ones leave their mark for fun, drawing their own, almost without teaching creativity. They unload them in sheaves into the snow, in the dark, still sleepy and shackled. Wrapped in scarves and hats. Just a few cracks to understand what is happening, so as not to go astray. Day after day, with enviable consistency, the marmots shudder. They started it. We exhaled. Kisses, tribute given, nothing in return but embarrassment. The content accepted by the foundations of society forces, essentially the same children with cars, to give early to the millstones of buildings, a little less than the height of carbon copies. Serve, draw, build, read, perform, deserve, and most importantly survive by receiving fictitious points. Giving into other people's thoughts with complex characters. In the evening, established questions, entirely for politeness. The answer is the same monosyllabic response to zero attention. Lack of happiness, the routine of daily events repeating. Given away. Unloaded...We invite you to read in full https://proza.ru/2021/04/04/1240