- Tattoo, tattoo, splash! Nasa Masina was angry. Tatusya, and you know, the two Masinis really wanted to spite us, but Uncle Llosa called them and gave them to us, instead of telling Glisa, he said everything. Really, Moses will marvel! Vasil threw himself over. His dear son Zhenya and the lisp of a child like a child, having discovered the devil’s news to the family, stood upright. - God for you! Do you know any stars? - Having fallen asleep, stretched and laughed, nourishing Vasil with his little son. - Plavda! Having shown Meni Glis, I am a fan myself. Didn't you? Well, then go and sing yourself! The car really broke down... “I’m selling you cheap, that’s the best price. You're my friend! “I would tell you like that, for nothing, having given it away, but I would have needed a thousand dollars to take the children home,” Tsariov’s words lurched in Vasil’s memory. The car, broken into two parts and cooked, silently symbolized the destruction of trust at the hundred-hundredths of Tsar’s and Petrov. “Grisha,” calling out to his eldest son, “take the car to the cemetery.” It is not safe to drive, you can crash. Not suitable for repair... The car was brought back. One car. Petrov was a kind person and did not like conflicts. My family was left without expenses. When he was ill, all the money he earned went to pay Borg Tsariov. I didn’t want to be happy with anyone: I couldn’t make my friend happy. There was no way to take care of my family. For many months now, one old woman from a neighboring apartment complex has been calling her neighbor to bring groceries for her family without catastrophes. The products were intended for the homeless, disabled and those who are unable to take care of themselves. Seeing himself as homeless and disabled at the same time, Vasyl became even more oppressed. “Tattoo,” Grisha, the eldest son, boomed, “I brought the car.” Grisha went and sat down on the old, worn-out sofa next to his father. - Well, yogo, tattoo! I'll buy you a new car. I'll make a pittance... “Yes, yes,” Vasil’s sons thought to themselves, mechanically. – It’s just not about Uncle Lyosha. Good? - Grisha said. The car was broken, the friendship was broken, there was a catastrophic lack of money in order to save money. It was impossible to return to Russia, even if the house had been sold, even better prospects for living in the USA were opening up for the children... Petrov was never able to recover from the injury. Until the end of his days, he could not pay, because of the social payments in the order, which, having rejected through unavailability, he still had many fates after paying off the Tsar’s “borg”... And the Tsars were rich. There is no longer any need for new emigrants. I can’t get enough of such “friends” like Petrov. It is not easy to boast about success, although others seem to be unimportant about achieving success in America. And I tell no one and I don’t think about how Oleksiy Tsariov himself managed to collect his wealth. And people who know him, who are buried in him, respect that he is good, he is such a kind person. And Skrivdzheni should talk to him...
