Будильник звонит в половину седьмого, воздух разрезает далёкий...

The alarm clock rings at half past six, the air cuts the distant barking of the yard dogs across the road, in the panel house opposite one by one the windows light up. Morning. The kitchen is swimming to the beat of the disgustingly beautiful coffee "red price", you reach for the winston in the refrigerator, but you remember that you left it. A neighbor on the staircase dumps the ashes into a jar of Neskaf, a few words about the night match of Barcelona and the rising prices. Coldly. Leaflets in the elevator, buttons molten by a lighter, a galvanized sieve on a light bulb, a tart smell of an entrance and dampness. Small soft toys on mailboxes, “VASYA GOKH” marker, “credit for two hours without documents”, “stretch ceilings are inexpensive”. You open the iron door, sharp cold air and the smell of exhaust from the nine, which someone is vainly resuscitating, beats in the face. You go to a stop, shoot a cigarette, wrinkle in your pocket, out of habit, raise your collar when the bobby is passing slowly. You go around puddles and look for a clean path, look through the windows of other people's apartments. TVs on the walls, "good morning", news, hot tea by the window, silhouettes on the sidewalks, you straighten your headphones and graze the garbage bag under your feet. Schoolchildren with large briefcases overtake you noisily, the door of the Khrushchev loudly closes. Smoke from the red pipe of the thermal power plant stretches into the sky, where for the first time a schoolboy made a burden on the corner behind a concrete fence. How many years have passed? The woman at the kiosk pays for the Moscow Komsomolets; on the bus, humble faces do not even look out the window. Hands freeze. You approach the turnstiles, forgot the travel card, but the hare is already ashamed. You are waiting for the train, you turn away from the look of a classmate whom you last saw five years ago, pretending you didn’t recognize him. Checking the contact, no one wrote. The ruble fell, sanctions strengthen, populate a new microdistrict. You look at your feet, pushing in the vestibule, brushing frost on the window with your finger, behind which a forest park, ovd, market, moving ... No, you need to change something. This is no longer possible. You wake up and don’t understand what’s going on: “dear, what’s wrong with you? You screamed in your sleep!” Silence for a second, straighten the blanket. "Nothing, everything is fine. Let's sleep."

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