Tonight I'm going to the subway, standing. On the contrary, half a meter, a girl of 19 years.

Is sitting. Dressed in a white blouse with a single low button and, above, a light leather jacket.

We are going. People come and go. I “read” Murakami. She is also “immersed” in some kind of reading.

“I read” - exactly like this: the brains pretend that they are trying to grasp the meaning of the narration, and their eyes are “shooting” exactly in the section of the blouse.

It is not for nothing that they “shoot”: under the blouse, no, no, let the moment the edge of the black bra open almost to the nipple circles flash, so that in the left lapel of the blouse you can see a slightly tanned chest that stands out clearly on a white background.

The girl is "immersed in reading" ... but is it really so?

In the next moment of “manifestation”, which was delayed for 3-4 seconds, I notice that her breathing begins to differ from the usual: the chest rises more often and higher than it should have been with quiet breathing. Fingers nervously teasing the page of the book.

Really ... "started up"?

STOP!

Not.

The main thing is not to take ... supposed for real.

I let the most distracted mask on my face, focus on the literary action, bring my own breathing in order (adrenaline did its frisky business: the pulse jumped to 130, the look “stuck” to the bust of the girl;

no matter how "lit up";

I begin to quietly "move away."

We are already about fifteen minutes away. I continue to observe out of the corner of my eye.

Say - "enjoy"? Yes, in part ... (and, in fact, there is - what!).

Or to define what is happening, as a “study of hidden hidden perspectives and landscapes”?

Undoubtedly: "About how many wonderful discoveries are to us ... brings (however, who would have thought) our inquisitive gaze."

Maybe liken himself to a hunter stalking a strange beast? Let it be so ...

The “bizarre beast” does not allow to forget about itself for a second, either by hiding from the gaze in the collar of the blouse, or by appearing as a gleam of dark skin in the frame of the patterned bra pattern.

Suddenly, after some time, the brain reaches, literally, “crawls” and becomes aware of the incredible, impossible to be real, which happens for a quarter of an hour before my eyes: every minute the girl straightens her fingers with an elegant movement and ... SPELLS the blouse cut! She clearly demonstrates her “treasures”, most likely “calculating” and “illuminating” me even before I even figured out the color of her underwear.

THE FINISH!

New injection of adrenaline in the blood, the pulse abruptly up to 180.

Stop. Doors open - Paveletskaya - the transition to the Ring Line.

In a head the lightning rushes by: “we glue” - we are attached to the escalator - we go from the side to the left, on the right hand - it; the blouse is worn from right to left, thirty centimeters separating her skin and the line of my gaze. Helpful imagination draws a picture: low bra cups, a little darkish nipple aura, tight skin of the chest, the smell of the female body; the escalator inexorably rises, in a matter of seconds, and the obsession falls into the past: a mechanism that raises the female and male individuals to the height of the fourteenth floor.

A curtain.

Three quarters of a second goes to the “battle of the titans” of passion and common sense, and I make a decision: I stay.

I'm going home to my beloved.

I did not see my beloved two days long, being content with a ringing “smack” in the morning, before leaving the house, and in the evening, before going to sleep.

Very soon I will cross the threshold of my house and hold her tightly to me for a long, long time, until the ringing in my ears.

My lips will have moisture on her lips.

And we will stand in the darkness of the corridor, unable to break the magic of love. The love that she gave me.

My lovely.