– I only wrote one stupid poem when I was little. I don't even know what it means.
– Can you tell me it?
– Okay, – I showed my teeth.
Time has passed, mur bears still sleep,
Day has long been done.
In the morn, they'll see a film,
But they sleep for now.
It seemed Sasha was ready to pop from laughter. So was I.
– And now, let's get serious. Try to compose a good poem, at least two lines.
– Sasha, I can't…
– Pretend that you can.
– This curse of mine, you'll be beside me, – I got still, – my fate, it wears a ball and chain…
– Yeah, with Iosif Seraphimovich it won't be pleasant at all.
High heels walked behind us and stopped.
– Oh, I forgot! Czardas. Alexander Pavlovich, dad's going to kill me. I have to go.
– See you, Sasha.
Sasha ran as fact as she could, almost losing the notebook. The stranger took her place.
– What a wonderful beginning! You're talented.
She looked like a marigold bud that didn't have time to see the sun and died under the snow. Her hazelnut hair wasn't long, and her shape wasn't too attractive, but she didn't lose any charisma from that.
– H-hello.
– Isn't your name Alexander Pavlovich? – The woman smiled. – I'm Marina Vasilievna. You shouldn't be called by your name and your patronymic at your age.
– You seem familiar. I saw you on our town's TV channel.
– That's because my last name is Zlatokrylova.
– That's right! – I jumped. – You sing!
– I do, my dear. And I respect any youth that begins its way. Tell me, are you a musician? – You have a very good size of your poem.
– Well…
I didn't hide anything and told her my story in all its honesty.
– I see. My condolences. It's always hard to lose one's loved ones. But you're doing good – you didn't leave your brother's instrument to get covered with dust and now you're using it well.
– My mom wanted to exchange it to pinot grigio.
– What tastes. Your mom doesn't know what's being brewed at Abrau Durso.
Now we smiled together. I exhaled through my nose loudly.
Marina Vasilievna got a piece of paper from her bag, scribbled a number on it and handed it to me.
– Call me, don't be shy. But if you have my fans among your friends, I'll shoot you, – she winked.
– Thank you, Marina Vasilievna. I respect your genius, – my face got red.
– It's mutual, dear Sasha.
– W-would you like to go to a concert with me? My friend will be performing a solo there.