Her name was Luba ...

He met her in the park, when the dank autumn tore off the last clothes from the unfortunate trees, and poured rain on them in plenty. Here and then drizzle, something nasty, cold ...

He drank beer, grimacing after every sip - his throat ached, and beer, as luck would have it, was cold. Gusts of wind moved long curly hair, which was already gray after one. The wind tried to rip off his hat, which, in the end, had to be removed and put away in a package ... The day before yesterday he turned 22 ... Friends did not come, he had not seen his friends for a long time ... However, he had friends as such was not, as they all betrayed him. Well, it's not about that.

Having finished his beer, he was going to throw out an empty bottle, so that it would break against a tree. Swinging with anger, he felt someone's small, warm, wet hand that gripped his rough paw. He turned around. It was she ...

“Do not throw it away,” she ordered in a low voice.

Blond hair fell on the cheeks scarlet from the cold. Big eyes looked at him without any hint of emotion. And his piercing eyes betrayed the beginning stupor. Fortunately, he quickly passed, but the hand had already managed to break open and the bottle, falling on the curb stone, shattered into thousands of fragments. The sound of this blow echoed over his head and brought him out of his stupor.

- Are you okay? She asked.

“Yes, yes,” he said, blinking his eyes. - I'll ... buy more.

- Come on, - the girl smiled.

“No,” he worried about something. - I still need to.

...

“Wait a second,” he said, trying to smile. - And then let's go.

The girl watched him with interest as he walked behind the tree. With interest, she listened to the murmur and watched the steam going down the wind. At the same time, she put the bag with an empty container on the ground with a jingle. The day after tomorrow she will be 69 ... Parents will donate roller skates, her friends will come. Boy...

“Well, that's it,” he smiled guiltily and once again checking on the run, whether his fly was buttoned, he said. - Let's go to.

They walked along the asphalt path that had begun to rot and decompose, which had begun to rot.

- I will help? He asked, pointing at the bag with the bottles.

“Okay,” she paused to transfer her burden.

And again warm fingers slid on a hand, cold and wet from a drizzle. He glanced at the girl. Then, assessing the weight of the bag, he asked:

- Good day today?

- In terms of? - she did not understand, and even slightly flushed.

- I'm about bottles. Many managed to gather up? - he also blushed, realizing that he had asked a question only to hear her voice.

- Aaaaaa! She drawled and grinned. - Not! In the summer a lot more work.

“Then those,” he faltered. - You should come to me. I have a ton of these bottles.

“C'mon,” her cheeks flared again with shy blush. - Let's really on "you." And I probably will take the bottles.

- True? - he almost choked with suddenly surging joy. - That's good! That's right!

They came to a stall. He reached into his pocket for money.

- What kind of beer will you be?

“Actually, I don’t want to, but since you treat, then Staropramen.”

He put his face in the window and, hating the hatred of the black-nosed face that was sitting there, gave through his teeth:

- Two "Staropramen."

“Sechas, sechas,” the salesman began fussing, as though outraging him with his pronunciation.

“Bitch is black,” he said, turning away and not even taking the change.

They walked, sipping their beer. We walked along the gray asphalt roads. They crossed the moody empty courtyards with wooden buildings slanting from the rain. Finally, came to the brick Khrushchev, from the darkness of the entrance which was distributed drops.

“Here we are,” he said grimly, losing for a moment the further course of events.

Five staircases alternated with areas once covered with white and burgundy, now dirty small gray-brown tiles. In the hallway, however, he had boxes with empty bottles. They dimly flashed when he turned on the light, as if yearning for his former fullness.

“I,” she faltered. - I do not even know how you ... thank you.

- What's your name? - he asked.

“Lyuba,” she said softly, as if embarrassed by her name. - And you?

- It doesn’t matter. Well ... Let it be Igor. Or not. Better Glory, - he hesitated. - So, Lyuba. You've done so much for me. But if you allow you to spend, then this will be very good.

“It’s not necessary at all,” for some reason she wanted to refuse. - I remember the road.

“So I will help the bottle get through,” he insisted. “Or suddenly you have to protect you from the hooligans.”

- Do you know how to fight ?! She asked.

- You can, you can not! It does not depend on it! - he said. To fight him and, truth, with no one else had to.

- And from what? - the girl was very curious.

“Everything is here,” he tapped his forehead with a bent index finger. - I'm in the ass.

“No, you don’t need to, anyway,” she was already beginning to be afraid of this strange type. - I'd better come tomorrow and take the rest.

At the same time she swung to the door. But he beat her and slammed the door.

- What are you afraid of? - he spoke louder than in the park then.

“No,” she lied.

“Come here,” he said, and putting his protruding middle finger between her buttocks covered with worn jeans, he pushed her into the kitchen with his palm.

Here he was God. Having set her on a stool, he turned to the refrigerator. She did not know what will happen now. Only guessed. And it scared her. And he got a bottle of vodka and a jar of sprats. After a moment, he sliced ​​Borodino bread and put two glasses on the table. He himself sat opposite her. He opened the bottle and splashed on the bottom of her glass. Himself poured more.

- Take the glass! - He ordered. - For the acquaintance!

Quickly draining his glass, he fished out the sprat with his fingers, deftly put it on a slice of bread, put it all in his mouth, and only then winced.

- Drink, what are you waiting for? - he was perplexed.

- I just never ...

“So much the better, it means he will slip on like ... how,” he never found a comparison, and therefore he poured himself more.

The girl clumsily drank and coughed.

- In! “Well,” he said, grinning. - Here's a snack.

While she snacks, he drank his own and poured on a new one. The girl stopped coughing. She was already filled with warmth from the inside, and she herself took the glass in her hands. She clasped his two palms, like a child holding a bottle of milk.

- And now for what? - She asked.

“Ah,” he thought for half a second. - Don't you think they all die.

- Who ?! - unexpected fun swept the girl's body.

“Well, there are enemies there, the government, the Chechens and the rest,” he had already switched to a silly-joking way.

“That's right,” she said unexpectedly.

When the glasses were filled for the third time, she said:

- And I know the third toast for what!

- For what? - He asked, vykovyrnu fish bone between his teeth.

- For love, of course.

- That's good,...