Recently, on the instructions of a sports TV magazine, I left for Madrid to interview the former Soviet Spartak defender Vagiz Khidiyatulin about the upcoming European soccer championship. The interview was a success, and late in the evening, Vagiz and I sat in the same Spanish cafe and drank beer with red boiled crawfish. I was completely relaxed and, spreading into a sweet smile, I winked occasionally at the beauties scurrying around. Vagiz seemed somewhat tense even after a day of work in front of the camera. He continually went to the toilet, called, fidgeted, and everything seemed to be hesitant to inform me about something. I didn’t react to it at all, because I had already sent an operator to Moscow and took myself a plane ticket in three days, which I expected to spend pleasantly on the beach and in the bar, where they prepared a magnificent coffee.

Finally Vagiz jumped up and, snatching the notebook folded in half from his back pocket, nervously handed it to me. After that, he went to the bartender and gave him a Sepultura CD “Chaos A. D.”. The music crashed, and I went deep into reading.

* * *

... The doors of the train with the noise swung open. Following this, the Judas Priest solo in my ears listened to the footsteps of fellow travelers passing by. Opening my eyes full of pleasure with the magnificent sound, I saw two pretty girls with bare knees in canvas skirts descending on the seats next to me and opposite. At nine in the evening, there were few people in the carriage and, obviously, my physicist who was fascinated by the music and the warm May air attracted them. I will not describe the many gestures and eloquent views that we exchanged with the girl opposite for the next half hour, finally her friend came to the platform and we continued to travel in silence. She was about to leave and looked at me with regret, then she headed for the exit. I followed her. Nobody came to the empty platform except us.

Usually it gets dark here at 10 pm, but only May was on the threshold and therefore dusk began to descend to the spring land that had just recently become free from snow-covered islets. I walked behind my companion, without raising my eyes from the graceful movements of her graceful legs in dull white stockings.

The girl looked at the edges of the platform and was somewhat alert when she saw that besides me, a strong 40-year-old man, there was no one around with a cane, a cane, round brown glasses and long resin patches scattered from under the cylinder on a smart mac. However, she was not at all frightened of my respectable appearance, and, perhaps, she recalled the numerous councils of television psychologists not to show signs of fear of the criminal. One way or another, she walked 2 meters in front of me, pridefully prizanuyas and swaying her seductive hips. I thought it would be a good idea to start a conversation, otherwise she may be seriously afraid of my persecution. And I did not want to scare her at all. I just wanted to persuade this 15-year-old being to brighten up my spring loneliness for this cozy evening.

- Hello, young lady! - I said.

“Hello,” she answered, smiling, apparently, more to the form of my question than to me.

“Would you allow me to escort you?” There are so many dangers in these places ... - Yes, I somehow am myself, - suddenly the girl answered strictly and proudly.

- I beg you, do not reject my insignificant service - I prayed, - I will be anxious all night if I am not sure that you got safely. Tell me better where I have to go with you and I will take you to the shortest and safest way ...

Obviously, I overdid it in the amount of double-barley beer, with which I drank steaks with blood in the station pub, and therefore did not notice its internal stress in time.

- I'll scream! - suddenly turning to me, she blurted out. Her fists clenched.

“It's no use,” I said sarcastically, insulted by her reaction to a completely innocent sentence. After the phrase, I had the imprudence to release a cloud of marijuana in her face. Then I stupidly stared at the Roman features of her face.

Suddenly a strong blow to the nose brought me out of a state of bliss. How right was Cardinal Richelieu, saying that "a weak person can strike hard"! A “hell patrol” symphony flew out of my ears, and the glasses and the cylinder rolled onto the platform. In the ensuing silence, I dismantled only the footsteps of the maiden, pounding like a Visionist's heart. I came to indescribable rage. Pulling the pipe out of my mouth, I rushed after the impudent beauty.

The distance between us was reduced, until the end of the platform there were two dozen meters. Towards us along the tracks flew a locomotive with two construction cars. Reaching the edge, she, with square eyes in horror, was already ready to jump under the wheels of the droning train, but at the last moment she stopped short and stood still, leaning against the guard grid and closing her hands desperately away from me. Having flown to her in a second, I fell to my knees and passionately fell my lips to her beautiful knees, tenderly embracing juicy caviar. But the moment of tenderness was short. As soon as the composition rushed past, she kicked me with all her strength into the liver and, twisting on the spot, jumped forward and down. But I reacted faster: having thrown the cane forward, I picked up the girl by the ankle and pulled at myself. The girl collapsed down the path like a knocked down. I was not slow to go down next. Her face was broken.

Swallowing the sweet smoke of grass, I proceeded to the triumph of a sadistic lust. I hit a girl smeared in my own blood with a cane on the head and spine, kicked my belly with my foot, banged tits with a picked stone, walked over her head, kicked my face. Sometimes I was interrupted to take a sip of bluish smoke. I dragged her by the hair, choked her, then took off the belt with a heavy steel buckle of Harley Davidson and began to whip her backside and legs until the whiteness of the stockings was covered with dark stains of blood. Not allowing me to turn my belly up, I pulled up her skirt, and tearing up the panties with both hands, I barely inserted the iron from the excitement of zeb into her virgin hole. My victim stiffened and screamed in an agonistic voice. NOMAD! - Sepultury rattled in my ears. I made a guttural roar and violently twisted in a tiny vagina, fell on her stomach and deeply bit her neck with aching canines ...

... Suddenly waking up, I saw before me an unbearably gray sky. My stake sucked encephalitis tick ...

Shubino (90 km from Moscow in Yaroslavl) June 2 19 ..

* * *

Having coped with the text, I looked madly at Vagiz.

He was clearly pleased with the impression made on me - he laughed, looking at me and swallowed the claw of the cancer, throwing it into the chips poured with tomatoes. “Why haven't you published it before?” - I asked.

- Yes, I tried - only the director of "Progress" wanted to make me suck his blood from horseradish! - he said.

In response, I grabbed my bag and notebook and walked to the exit.

- Where are you going? - surprised Vagiz.

“Fool,” I shouted, “I must go to Pedgiz!”

I jumped into a hare on the first plane that landed in Moscow, it turned out to be a postal one, I got frostbite, but now you are lucky to learn this strange story of Vagiz.