Oh, if I would be a little tenderness…
G. Ivanov
Natalia arrived in Saratov from the distant and lousy city of Balakovo, known for her hastily knocked atomic reactor, as well as an abundance of drunken and mentally backward youth. But in our beautiful city she was not so lucky. And that’s why.
Natalia of the Necasous poet-narcomania Staska fell in love with. And then it went and went: fights, scandals and loud roar of the poet, who either read poetry, then beat Natalia with mortal combat. The poet Staska told me the following:
– And here I am her, Mink, by fucking, by fucking. And she saw her, how healthy, bitch irradiated. And she would have a dick. Only yellow saliva in different directions fly.
Natalia also poured her soul to me:
– He, in fact, is a good poet, albeit a stump, but the sexual. My cowards will pull his dick and run after me, growling. And I’m running away from him. Well, then…, In general, you know what later.
For several weeks, Natalia rushed along Saratov in search of housing and work. Staska did not let her out with her: he was guarded, suspected of numerous unclean ties. In general, he didn’t give me a live, what a hell is it to hell with.
But somehow there was a case that crashed into my memory: Natasha got a job at work in the kindergarten, in the center of our city. I was already happy for them. For a moment, Natalya introduced me in the image of Mary with the baby. Maria is Natasha, and the baby is, therefore, Staska. In other words, it has established itself in life. And the shelter of God, so to speak, has gained, love and happiness. Well, it wasn’t there. The song did not play for a long time. In the kindergarten where Natasha worked, wild things began to happen. Residents of nearby houses said that in the label of the witches there are shirts. And others, listening to the roar of Natalia and Staski, were sure that in the kindergarten some maniac cuts children and prepares overseas from their meat and benign cutlets.
A few days later Natasha comes to me and says:
– You will lead me, Mishenka, to kindergarten, otherwise I am scary to walk alone at night.
I was very surprised, because it was the fifth hour of the evening and the sun beat out the window with might and main. But what can you do, I have always been a gentleman. Having quickly gathering, I went to see Natasha. We approach the most unfortunate kindergarten. On benches, grandmothers are eighty-year-olds are baptized, whispering about something very unpleasant. I also felt uneasy, because I felt someone’s burning look with my back. I turned around and see that Staska was sitting in a dusty bush, mumbles, and his black eyes will drill me like two drills. In general, an unpleasant situation. I kissed Natasha at Lobik and whispered in her ear:
– Pussy, they say, the darling and faster, otherwise your animal will cling to my sleepy artery.
Natalia laughed in the uterine and, slyly scraking, rushed to the door of the kindergarten.
– Yeah, bitch, – a small creature roared from the bushes, bouncing, it rushed into a rash behind its beloved.
I wiped sweat from my forehead, light a cigarette, and slowly moved to my home. The frightened old women were still baptized and whispered among themselves:
– That’s how every day!
The next day, Staska comes to me and, excitedly waving her hands, reports the following to me:
– In short, that’s it! This fool, Natakhu, was fired on a dick from a kindergarten. I fuck her there for a week. She, whore, like a pig, squealed. I even plugged her pillow with a pillow.
Staska paused. And I, taking advantage of this, dared to say:
– Of course: screams, noise…
– That’s not the point, not that! She’s her smelly underpants in a pan, where children are cooking porridge, she put!
– Really because of this? – I marveled.
– And what?! – Staska twisted his thick lips in a grin. – You think, a trifle, nope, not a trifle! When the employees of the kindergarten came, they opened the pan where the nursery porridge was, from there such a pond went, as much as the banter, two nannies fainted. The inspection was also called a group of special forces. Thought the next terrorist attack. Of course, I am a poet, a person with a great imagination, but I still can’t imagine why she attached her smelly underpants with a children’s porridge. Here you are – you can imagine it?!
For a while, a painful silence reigned. Then the poet looked at me with some otherworldly eyes and said the following:
– This is the transcendental ciphers of being, as Yaspers would say.
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