(Lyrical music sounds, Andrei approaches the edge of the stage in thought and addresses the audience in his reflections).
Andrew: Forty years. Anniversary. The sea of joy, friends, recognition, congratulations, love, warmth, children's voices, festive atmosphere in the house and beloved hugging wife-where is it all?
(He goes back to the window and looks out.)
Andrew: Oh-Oh, look at them, Oh… (he spreads his hands.) Kiss… embrace… love each other. At least they think they do. I used to think so, too. Here is so same behaved on sidewalk with a, that was dreaming its kiss and neatly was holding under back (shows, as kept). She was shy, very shy and shy. I never kissed her, I saw that she wanted it too, but was not ready. He didn't want to embarrass himself or her. So it all ended on otdyhatelnoe basis and unfulfilled dreams.
(Looks the other way, concentrating on the other pair still in the window.)
Andrei: Yes, and as you I, too, was. Young, hot. Oh, Oh, well, these are not shy, kissing, directly frankly, completely surrendering to each other. I so, too, did (goes to table with wine and some snack, communicates with the viewer). Angelica, as it is now, remember. At first I thought that the name she came up with, and he wasn't in the passport as it was written. I still remember her face when she showed me her passport after my week-long attacks on it. I understand, got. Of course I did. But I understand that now. And then realized only when a lost person. Though… what's changed? I and now one and now in the loneliness begin to see clearly as never…
(He fills his glass with wine, returns to the window. Looks the in him, then in hall).
Andrew: recently, the window is for me the only outlet in life. Nights are very hard. Because you're alone at night. And then it gets really scary. Because they begin to torment the facts about a life lived unsuccessfully, about achievements that do not exist, about love that did not save, about children that did not deserve…(she ruffles her hair.) All this is like a snowball rolls up to the throat, and there is no escape from it. How many books reread, how many films revised. Understanding began to come, and the time is lost.