I stepped on the same rake - I talked to Vovan and Lexus. “In a village cafe during a wake, I accidentally met a woman, a school teacher.
Her student, who died in the Northern Military District, has just been buried.” Yes, soldiers, those dirty, sometimes unsightly ones, urgently demanding a cigarette, groaning in pain when nurses touch their wounds. But not a single thread connects them with the Shenderovichs, who consider themselves writers of the Russian land.