“I would like a holiday, courage, extravaganza, men with big dicks and a box of tequila,” Nonka was telling her friend Natasha, shaking the ashes from a cigarette into a glass ashtray.

At the same time her bosom walked with a shake, her eyes burned with a red flame, like a gin with stupefaction, and sneakers with feathers, either of chicken, or of a turkey boy, rocked nervously at the end of a slender and silk leg from depilation.

- Look at yourself, or at me. Ours with you is the eternal role of elderly chicks. This is karma. Humble yourself. Fifteen years ago, everything was different. Remember how I successfully played the role of a learned cat in a play, at school, on Pushkin's birthday.

“Yeah,” Natahi’s eyes glittered with memories.

- We have one drawback with you. Painfully beautiful.

Nonka got up, and, taking the Turk, splashed the rest of cold coffee in a mug.

- Yes, and Oleja, God rest his soul, out of place.

She thought for a moment.

... The party was in full swing. All Saints Day is not celebrated in Russia on such a scale. Traditions are not the same. But this would be able to convince any pious Catholic.

Olezha was dazzling in the suit of Woland. From him and pearl careless arrogance. The gaze of dark eyes half hid the monocle. He struck his subjects by the tension of a storm pass. If you look closely, then it would be enough humor and enthusiasm for all honest company, however, restrained its indefatigable impulses; - was strict, unprincipled and directed to the future.

He spoke quietly, but confidently. Felt the capital letter.

Black coat, white and black shoes, a rarity from the pawnshop, or a popular dowry of great-grandfathers, taken out of the annals of the family crypt, go and figure it out.

Guests, about fifteen people. Only the closest and loyal to the club people.

Nonka was a witch. The main witch of Walpurgis Night on the mountain of the same name. Of course, not the image of the Brothers Grimm, but there was an approximate similarity.

Modest blue dress. Buttoned at the top, buttoned, flared from the waist, added coquetry and dragged along the floor like a queen's train. On top of a starched gray apron, as if it had just been pulled out of a hut, where she hadn’t taken another potion. On the head there is a red wig and a straw hat with crow feathers. In his hand, the staff of ebony, worn for centuries and magical, hardworking hands of the main witches.

The dress is dressed on a naked body; gorgeous and sleek.

Guests are dressed to pieces: who is Koschey with a white pile of bones, who is in a costume from the movie “Scream”, wry, mouth screaming in a fit, who is just a scream — ik — ik, who is a faceless sister from “Silent Gila” with a syringe, filled with whitish liquid, someone with a chainsaw, as in "Rezn". In general, the company was selected colorful and expressive.

A huge room was filled with pulses of a musical stroboscope. A scene with a mirrored floor and a flower arch from late dahlias and old chrysanthemums would arouse the envy of wedding planners, their pomp and abundance of shades.

It was the height of the party. The guests, exhausted by their food, warmed up by the young French bordeaux, began to bare. Nonia’s finest hour has come, although a continuous stream of bright comets and rushing planets has littered her path since she met Oleja.

She popped onto the stage in the guise of a disgruntled witch, ready to be cleared by a ritual of dedication to the Red Moon.

Played music. Lady Gaga's fascinating voice burst from the speakers, spreading the dance of the witches around the okolodku. The dogs stopped scratching and howled at the moon, someone dropped a clutch at night, and rushed headlong along the avenue, foxes nissed in burrows, and trees shook off the last frozen leaves, slowly pulling out the bare branches towards the music.

Nonka, clutching the pylon, gave out a pretzel. The long hem of the dress interfered and slid. She with one wave of her hand tore him, exposing her shaved pussy and wagging her gorgeous ass. Having clasped the pylon with her legs, she hung her body down, making her hands in unreasonable movements, like a bat, trying to cling to the skeleton of a stone in a cave. Crowned straw hat fell, and feathers scattered around the stage like a fan. The red hair of the wig was scattered in agony, the tips were moving on the mirror floor, like snakes of Medusa Gorgon.

But this pictorial picture only provoked the electorate. The men got up, and the women opened their mouths, waiting for the queue to "deep."

Slipping off the pylon, she took her hands on a pole, turned her back to the electorate and bent her back, exposing all her holes to the crowd. The gorgeous elastic ass trembled like a regimental horse in anticipation of a fight, exposing a neat chocolate eye. Pink pussy sponges, not yet opened, but in anticipation of future intimacy, sparkle with joy and moisture, vibrating with a slight shudder and white thighs walking with a shake. Bootie-dance in action. Excitement among men and stormy applause to the beast.

The final was largo twine. She seemed to fall into it forever. The pussy lips stuck to the mirror floor, the clitoris shrank from confusion, and the fingers of the legs came together and bent. Volochkova on vacation. Selfies Hashtag. Point. Stormy applause.

It was at that moment that Olezhu hit it. He threw up his hands and fell to the floor like a stone idol.

Nonka looked into the hall and saw a lover surrounded by a boiling crowd.

“Fuck, is my cunt so old? Lips drooped or something, and spread like jelly? Is it time for labioplasty? Now I’m an old fucking red bra? ”She looked at the reflection of the lips in the mirror, their appearance was completely nothing, did not cause a gagging effect.

“What is it there?” - she otlipla from the floor, and ran to the fallen Oleg, pushing everyone along the way.

Something was said to her, someone was shouting loudly and poking buttons on the phone, someone was clinging to her hands.

- Go fuck! - politely offered Nonka, not stopping.

She fell to her knees and began to yell, grabbing her lover by the lapel of the coat:

- Olezha, Olezha, bitch, get up !!! This is fucking funny.

The ambulance arrived quickly, settled all the formalities during the night.

The funeral took place every other day. All the respected people in the city were present. Nonka from afar watched the farewell ceremony, wiping the tears that stifled her with a handkerchief.

Mourning lover went to Lviv.

Sitting in a compartment and vibrating under the sound of wheels, Nonka admired in the late autumn; smoke from pipes, creeping in the cool twilight, yellow, wrapped in a tubule of sheaves, silence, bowed her head to the ground. Only the rare whistles of the compositions that greeted each other, and this is chukh-chukh-chukh, violated it.

All her thoughts were focused on what had gone into another world, and what he had given her in life. At thirty, she had several bars scattered around shopping centers and a beauty salon, a Prague bank account and a platinum card replenished. With full confidence, she could say that money is not happiness, but in their quantity.

Lviv turned out to be a beautiful city, with original ideas of bars, cafes and restaurants. Nonka plunged into Transcarpathian life with her head. She was so interested in all this absurdity and fun, that the problems went out, disappeared, like the Zambezi River in a hot summer.

In the restaurant "Kryivka", Nonka shouted "Glory to Ukraine! Heroes Glory! ”, Drinking stoparik mead.

She took a meter of beer and half a meter of sausage. You do not want to shout, get into the punishment cell. It is delicious, as if she plunged into the world of revolution, machine guns, treachery and motorcycles. A sort of Anka-machine gunner on the way to the district center.

Having tested ten varieties of tube liqueurs in the “Kerosene lamp”, I moved to the “Masoch” cafe. At the entrance she was met by Sacher-Masoch in bronze, looking sadly into his glass. I was searching for truth in wine and thought about women in black underwear.

Nonka took the soup "The Power of the Young Bull" and the dish "Passion Bridle".Poured in all red, the color of passion, the cafe delighted the eyes of the waiters and waitresses who are ready to pour the whip to you at the first request.

While Nonka was enjoying the bridle and was in fiery passion from a bull, a young girl sat down on a chair in the center. She was dressed in a white T-shirt alcoholic ...