She was bad. My head was spinning, the sun was hitting the back of my head; a hand that had numbed in the morning sometimes exploded with bell-shaped pain. In the eyes of saving saving darkness, and, gathered in a fist, drove the heat short refreshing oblivion. She knew exactly what time it was, and it was more terrible than the rest of the torment. The disgusting hours, in which there was not a single scratch on the dial, which she would not have cursed, would tick, and seconds the ants climbed over her inflamed skin, without a goal, measured, patiently, moving their antennae. She recalled yesterday's girl - well dressed, tastefully made up, slightly in love and slightly drunk. What was the name of this girl? Was she or just dreamed of, standing in the line of the inflamed visions today? Among which was he, her beloved fool, handsome and so pure, that now she wanted to puke at the mere thought of it. I especially remembered: “Say only“ Enough! ”- and I will get the keys.” Ha! Once again. Ha! Wait, honey, we'll play again. He began to celebrate the coward last night. Then the handcuffs were a game, after a dizzying thrill, caught in an extremely uncomfortable position, she was ready to forgive the temporary inconveniences caused by the rules of the game. Fell away from her, he asked: “y, what? Enough? ”She unexpectedly sharply and viciously laughed. He was embarrassed and sat down at the table, milled nonsense, smoked, drank and poured to her. She did not refuse, smoked and drank with him, shaking the ashes into a caring ashtray. The heat floated both of them, naked, ugly in the light of a penny bulb without a lampshade. He fussed, not giving up, persuaded his eyes, locking the words with a cigarette. She was silent. He pulled the keys, several times put them closer to her free hand. She got drunk and only laughed, meaninglessly shifting from place to place on the hot linoleum. The keys glistened on the table, mercury rolled from corner to corner. His gaming is this game. He would have been glad to finish it, but it was not there. She looked at him, not looking up, and was silent. And he removed the keys, went into the shower. Splashed there, like a seal, trying to splash the floor in the hallway. She looked at the ice dew and laughed. On her skin, streams flowed in streams and, mixing with the smell of perfume, exploded through the kitchen with invisible crackers ... finally, it penetrated. He jumped out of the bathroom and pounced on her in the best and the most boring traditions of the hunter and the victim. She finished almost immediately, exploding like fireworks, and immediately drove him away, kicking with her feet and her free hand. He, maliciously grinning at her helplessness, stood beside him and finished himself off, accompanied by her drunken swearing. Then he offered her to stop fooling around and threw the keys on his stomach. “Enough!” He said. "Played - and will be!". She took the keys and, before he realized what she was doing, threw them into the open window in the heat. He generously splashed vodka for himself, drank it and asked: “And what’s next?” He added helplessly: “In the end, you will have to go to the toilet? ...” She laughed, spread her legs wide as she could, and, opening fingers sponge, not speaking in Russian, launched a stream worthy of Peterhof. He jumped into a rage, swearing, trying to escape from the shooting, but, alas, vodka is not the best friend of coordination, not to mention the reaction. She screamed triumphantly, and he simply ran away from the kitchen. What he did next, she could only guess. Looks like he was looking for a flashlight, then went outside for the keys, then ... Then it was morning, and with the first rays of the sun she realized that the game was not as charming as it seemed to her yesterday in a drunken stupor. “Well,” said the bug under the left nipple, “it's even more interesting ...” “And the torture began with the heat. In accounting suchku black sleeves, crept up otkhodnyak, brought at a loss every yesterday's glass. His hand was numb, and his own fingers seemed alien. He forced himself to move them, realizing that pain was a sign of life. He was absent. Leaving, he left her the keys to the handcuffs and the phone at hand.In addition, he carefully wiped out all the puddles, except the one she had accidentally let out like a puppy, playing in the enchanted place with a morning sleepy finger. And now, under the bell bell of a headache, she was waiting for his return. Is it necessary to say that the keys flew out the window again? ... And what did she not regret about it? Right. I love you, clever reader. At 16.28 (watch, ay!), He returned home with three-person comrades. Apparently, they were prepared for what awaits them in the kitchen, so for a long time they were clattering in the corridor meaningless. Oh, of course, in the end, they came to the kitchen. And she, happy that instead of a hundred-headed summer stuffiness, came the four-headed hand-made dragon, began to command him with the lazy arrogance of the disbanded queen. Let us lower the curtain over this scene, leaving, however, enough holes for our meticulous, unblinking, curious ... It has been exactly twenty-four hours since the moment when the first move was made. The queen, carelessly called the queen, went back to the bottom of the board to be demoted into pawns ... Four drunk shadows, hanging around under the windows in search of ... What? I'll ask again. What? The shadow of the fence - like a thieves cast a key. The witch's laughter from the window ... Enough! ... Enough! ... Enough! ... © Mr. Kiss, One Hundred Splinters of One Sense, 1998–1999