you in paradise. Hahaha
And then I come up and without warning poke the guy in the bogey. He gasps for breath and, trying to resist, clings instinctively for me with one hand, and grabs the liver with the other. Drinks, that’s a weak liver.
– — Take your money, comrade. – I say sucker and beat the knife away from the guy.
– -Thank!!! – he thanks me, and the guy in mortal convulsions loses consciousness and dies. And he could work somewhere and benefit the state and people, but the democratic chaos in the country turned him into sleep … – Here, take a reward. – pokes me a sucker bill and quickly runs away, jumping into his Lexus and breaking off. A cup of tea and two sausages in the dough, thanks for saving tens of thousands and thieves’s blindfold. But pennies need to be saved. Yes, there are many people here and everyone is walking. And the price is furious and still growing. The poorer the people in the country, the more expensive the price.
What is it here?! I stand and watch another guy pester passers-by. I see people sticking out and not boiling, beer sucks, and a homeless person to it. He asks for something, and hovering to him right away.
– -Respected!!! Help for bread, give a trifle of money?! – says a mysterious beggar.
– — Get out, comrade Huy!! – the guy interposed in conversation. – Go steal, stinker!! – he broke off the bum. – Are you tired of homeless people?! – the guy smiled. Loch drew attention to him, examined him and took his starting position, taking the guy for his level of citizen. He continued. – Only bought a beer and you won’t really drink.
– — Yeah. he drawled. – I just bought beer, one comes up: “Give me two rubles?”, took a sip, the other: “Help me leave by metro, they just let me go from the cops.” Is our valiant police taking away personal money? Some kind of absurdity, on TV they say the opposite.
– — Hmm yes! – supported soaring sucker. And he continued:
– — He took another sip: “Help out the brother, the convict stroller …", you are already taking the seventh sip.. – he emphasized.
– -Twelfth. – I won over the guy using Neuro-linguistic programming techniques and Carnegie’s advice.
– -What? – Do not understand Loch.
– — And you are the twelfth…
– -Why?
– — And because we ourselves are tired of this life, winter, confusion in the country. Already aches on the soul. So they decided to organize an Independent Public Organization for the Homeless, in short: NOBL! We already rent an office and helped a lot with housing, work, a trip home, because for us documents are not important. This is the work of passport desks and the FMS. Honesty is in the heart, not on paper. What measure you take, God will repay you…
And the goof opened the shovel, and behind his back the cops already burned the guy and are waiting for the Magarychs. Usually it is beer and shawarma. But I don’t stew, I don’t want to frighten off the bag, I don’t often come across this, but a small press of cell bills poured out and wished prosperity, and the guy thanked him and quickly disappeared…
Fuuu, he left the police, but not his own. When you meet, that is your own, and so you go and spend. So I turned out to be mine and went to a couple.
– With a fat, perhaps, Zyoma-friend, handsome, you saw him like Laz… But I took the cops upon myself, saw them, they lured me?
– -Who are you? – frightened asked the guy.
– — I’m the same as you, pinch… well, share or skim?
– — We’ll give a damn about the bazaar, who’s who, who … – he supported the guy and offered to go to the Bistro. We went in and sat for half a day. They drove to the Nudist beach in Sestroretsk. The sun, buzz, dope and took nudists to the lakes to fuck, because on the beach are forbidden? But this is a special story.
In the morning, money is needed again, and I go, peering into the architecture. I drink beer, poke my teeth, spit out husks and take a long puff of a cigarette, for forty-three rubles, two times more expensive than a bottle of vodka. The condensed smoke rises and swells with a gust of wind…
10 note
And the homeless are at a party
And I went with a girlfriend, an active fashion designer without a certain place of residence according to my passport, which is the whole Western world, to the taiga village in Buturlinovka… In!.. The sleeping kingdom, where everyone does not see money and is half asleep dreaming of a past life.
In the morning I got up, crawled out into the yard and miss you. The mistress treated the mash on the eve. Baska hurts and poured berries into the yard. One single chicken ate them and fell lifelessly. The hostess, a fool, took and began to pluck feathers on a pillow from a hangover, thought that it was too late to cut, she herself died and without chopping off her head, the meat was stiff.
Meanwhile, the chicken woke up and fluttered, fanning feathers wherever, wherever, the bird said from a hangover and ran bald one side away.
– — Let’s go for a walk around the village. – suggested, in a hoarse past, mezzo-soprano, a friend who crawled out after me.
– — Or maybe we’ll crawl? – rising crawling from the next step of the porch, I answered with a sushkim. My heels were stale beyond the threshold inside the hut and blood flowed to the head, which intensified the pain. A friend stood up, leaning on my nape and shoved my nose, expensive shoes, went on to the exit from the yard. I crawled down the steps to my feet and popped after her playing buttocks to the store for vodka.
– — And nitrous? I asked, taking a sip from a purchased bottle of alcohol.
– — And he has a grandmother Nyurka, his mother pickles and salt so much that it’s enough to have a bite on the company.
Having finished, we headed to the local authority, a relative who was recently released from places of deprivation of food freedom and movement. His hut was, like many, rickety. Having bent over in the lower back, we went into the veranda and, without unbending, entered the hut. At the table sat waist-length, stripped, all in tattoos, a skinny man nicknamed Kharya. Of the muscles on his body, only bones were visible.
– — Great Kharya. – greeted my master without unbending. The ceiling was apparently built for hobbits and dwarfs.
– — Great, if you’re not joking. – the former convict answered nasally with a toothless timbre. I was not unbending just like my friend, stood at the door and waited for an invitation. – Sit down, just come.
– — Will you be a Vodyaru? – asked my.
– — And what is there? asked Kharya.
– — Of course, what a market, here. – Mine answered joyfully and put on the table a liter bottle of vodka.
– — Well, let’s pour it. – the prisoner took a bubble and printed it and poured it into a mug. – come in, sit down, dear guests, make yourself at home. – He suggested and tinned from the throat, and then washed down from the mug. – Haaa!!! he breathed out and widened his eyes. – Only I, as a mother, were buried from an appetizer, with a rolling ball, not a damn thing. Only black caviar. She’s already in my throat sticking out. You want, climb into the cellar.
– — Diathesis, you say? I explained.
– -What?? asked Kharya. – who is it?
– — This is my fraer, correct and not convicted. – explained mine.
– — And what kind of miracle are you? – I also boldly asked the prisoner.
– —