One day in the life of the blind man's blind, Misha, his friends and Labrador-Wheel Seven in the morning, I stand on the ground floor of a regular high -rise building, smells of rotting garbage. I press the doorbell and worry about whether anyone will hear me. After a couple of seconds, the door opens, and a middle -aged man with a tidy, slightly gray -haired beard and dark glasses comes out of the dark room. This man is the name of Misha, and I will spend all day with him.