I noticed you, beautiful and sad, at a noisy party in a super expensive nightclub. A girlfriend with whom we once lived on the same street took me there. Now she is the spouse of the ambassador of the overseas state in Ukraine, and I am a mediocre math teacher in high school. I have two higher educations, but I live on the teacher’s salary in my old apartment all on the same street, and my friend’s apartment turned into a bachelor orphanage of her bald bespectacled husband. And I often see from the window how he goes there with a cheerful gait, leading a girl by the hand of matchless beauty. But my friend doesn’t embarrass this fact, because she also does not deny herself carnal pleasures, and her husband silently closes his eyes to this. He feeds her, waters her, dresses her, leads her into the world, finances all the entertainment, and all this because she became the only woman who in the fifty-four years of her loving existence bore him a child. And he only had official marriages before my girlfriend had three, not to mention the Levs. True, because of this, the poor thing had to pull the tickets for the final exams in the eleventh grade, holding the eight-month tummy with one hand, but everything paid off with interest. Here is how to get married! - My mother said about her, but I do not want to. I want to marry a man, not his financial and social situation. My friend is bored alone. She pulls up to my house on her luxury foreign car. It rises to the second floor, swinging the floors of an incredibly expensive fur coat and filling the stairwell with the divine scent of French perfumes. She presses the bell button carefully so as not to damage the luxurious manicure. I open my shabby robe and hot rollers, and she tapping her heels and writhing her hips slowly swims into my modest old-fashioned apartment with a socialist interior. Having smelled her perfume in the hallway my mom flies in and choking with admiration squeals:

- Expensive! Come in, come in! We have a drink with a pie.

Dear smiles indulgently and purring in her purse purrs:

- No, no, Maria Pallna, not worth it, thank you. I'm on a diet. I brought you earrings from Greece. Gothic.

- Thank you dear! - Maman lyubitsya figuratively. - How lovely! I'm trying on now. Maman is retiring to another room to try on gothic earrings, and I know that this will be the only time she puts on this charm, because my mom, a lady who is refined at the genetic level, will never get into people with such tasteless earrings.

- Measure! - having thrown some kind of rag at me, orders a girlfriend and sensually sinks into a chair.

Rag turns evening dress from Zaitsev. It fits perfectly on my gorgeous figure. Seeing me in it, her friend's face is wildly distorted by the realization that she simply will not raise a hand to put it on after me, as she will never look so great in it. Having made an effort, she returns her face a decent look and says that she and I are going to a nightclub in this dress today. The husband is warned, the table is booked, she takes on maman. Well, I will not argue. It hurts to wander through the capital's streets in such a toilet.

We go downstairs, accompanied by eloquent views of old women sitting on a bench at the front door, we pass to the car and effectively leave.

Institution frankly luxurious. Famous showmen and mordo-turns in gold are seated at the tables. We did not have time to take our place, as my friend leaves for an indefinite amount of time. I wait for her for half an hour, wistfully sipping a cocktail, I smoke two cigarettes and, feeling unnecessary at this celebration of life, I decide to leave until the subway is closed, because I don’t have money for a taxi. But I notice you, beautiful and sad.You are sitting alone at the bar in a high chair with gilded legs. I only see your back of the head, but even he radiates genuine longing. Broad-shouldered brown-haired in a cream sweater, hunched over a glass. I get up from the table and go to the bar. Sit down on a chair next to you. Masculine profile and strong hands. I immediately wanted them to wrap my waist. I am gaining arrogance and, contrary to all my principles, I ask if you will treat a girl, that is, a drink. This is not my style at all, but I can’t think anything smarter and more original. You look at me with your sad eyes, feel embarrassed and say that you would treat me with pleasure, but you don’t have money even to buy a matchbox here, that you were invited and you don’t pay, that this establishment is too luxurious for you, and that you have nothing to interest such a refined woman like me. Then I call the bartender and order you and me a beer, you are going to protest, having decided that I, snickering the haughty bitch, decided to play my voice, but I explain that I am not crying and everything is in that spirit. We got to talking, took another beer, and then another and another. I told the bartender that the lady would pay for everything at the fifth table and we, pretty drunk, walked away. In my memory there are only fragments of what was after: the night streets, the gray door of a small apartment, you can't get a key into the keyhole, mind-blowing kisses on a pier in the dark hallway, a torn dress from Zaitsev, sheets smelling of violets, my face in yours warm rough palms and dawn, unceremoniously interrupted my sleep, inhuman headache, the doorbell + This came from the dacha your parents. You hurriedly wrote down my phone and let me quietly run away, distracting them with questions about Australian cucumber seedlings.

I arrived home, finding a maman there, chatting nicely with my girlfriend. A friend expressed everything she thinks about yesterday's escape and spoiled dress, and Maman shared her assumptions about where I spent that night, and how such a pastime could end. But my head ached and trembled so much that I could not care less about them. I locked myself in the bathroom and spent an hour smiling at my reflection in the mirror. In the evening you called. We met and went away. We spent together day after day, night after night. I lived your way and could not think about anything except your beautiful eyes, quiet velvety voice and strong gentle hands. My students simply adored me: I stopped noticing how they were whispering in class, did not correct errors in the equations, did not check their homework, and let them out of the lessons twice a week. It ended with the dismissal, but I didn't give a damn about him either, since I had you, and the work took us so much time. Now I belonged entirely to you. And those rare hours that we did not spend together, I missed you with every cell of my body. My mom hated you. She did not dream of such a son-in-law. Of course, you were not an ambassador and could not buy me a foreign car, a fur coat, toilets from Zaitsev, but I still decided to have you a child. I did not require you to stamp in your passport, move to a common area or something like that. We were both too freedom-loving to put ourselves in some kind of framework, and besides, we were so blinded and befuddled with each other, that jealousy was out of the question, because you knew that I simply did not notice other men, absorbed in thoughts of you, and I knew that you do not want more than one woman in the world except me. A friend laughed at me. Maman prized. But what was the opinion of others in comparison with your opinion? Once maman got angry and put me out the door. I did not condemn her - I was driven away for what. I did not bring money into the house, and did not even intend to look for a job, but lived at her expense, while I earned her hard-earned money on an exotic ultra erotic lingerie that I was going to seduce a hated person.Left homeless, I took my small suitcase, filled with that very little thing, and went to you. You met me with open arms, kissed everything from head to toe, including the briefcase ....