The motorcade of the winners

Shortly before the elections, I had the feeling that in Moscow there were fewer bureaucratic flashing lights. No, they, of course, were, and even turned on their chandeliers from time to time, but somehow without excessive fanaticism, delicately, or something. And some even rode peacefully in the stream, not disdaining the neighborhood with ordinary cars. And this morning, when, having thrown my son to school, I returned by covering home, on the oncoming trolleybus strip to the traffic light at a garden, with a hood, I rolled a mini-placement: a police officer, a member and a square guard of security. They sparkled and squealed so that she blinded her eyes and laid her ears in my tightly lined Mazde. The garden was lucky: if at that moment green was not lit, they would have flooded through the ring on Red. And I realized: here it is. The elections are over. I felt it this morning on Pokrovka, and not after the theatrical action on the arena, the tears of the winner, the center banned by the troops and the sad rally at Pushkinskaya, ended with mass Windol. This mini-angle celebrated the victory. You no longer need to disguise yourself, torture a flashing light, step on the throat of your own siren. They won and are going to live as before. But suddenly it turned out that they were mistaken. Five cars, touched on green, tangibly stunned from the oral, at the first moment moved to the right half a meter, but immediately returned to the lane. The motorcade tried to squeeze us out, but in vain. And the three with the same gikan was forced to continue the path according to an already full -fledged oncoming lane on the old Basmann. Having scared the oncoming and overtaking the unyielding, the motorcade was hardly embedded in the strip. It seems to me that soon they will understand that it will not work out at all. Three white -white months cannot pass without a trace: too many people managed to feel like citizens, not a plebs during this time.