Alexey Shcherbakov

*Before his stand-up routine, Lesha wrote an Instagram post with the following text: "Hi everyone, this is Shcherbakov. I'm backstage, five minutes before I go on stage. I decided to come here so as not to scare the people in the dressing room—that's where I usually repeat my jokes, but from the outside it looks like I'm summoning a demon."

There's a guy in the hall today who's the spitting image of my high school vice principal. If he doesn't laugh by the third block, I'll declare myself back in seventh grade and run to hand in my report card.

Wish him luck. Or goodnight to the headmaster. As luck would have it.

(Voice in head, sounding over automatically spoken jokes)

Okay, second block, we're going according to plan... that guy with the beard over there is laughing into his hands like a seal, he's a beauty. On the right are the girls—well, the standard set, blonde, brunette... Wait.

And what do we have in the front row?

Seriously? Right here, three meters away? It looks like she was transported here by a random portal from some other, more beautiful dimension. And now she's listening to my nonsense about housing and utilities and my alcoholic neighbor.

Oh, my God, Shcherbakov, pull yourself together. You're not a schoolboy. Shut your mouth, or you're going to drool all over the pavement... all over the stage.

What is she thinking about? She's looking at me intently, but she's not smiling. Is she challenging me? Or is the air conditioner just blowing on her neck, and she's preoccupied with the draft?

Damn, what was I talking about? Oh, right, about the taxi. I need to make eye contact with her, throw in an improvisational line... Right now, I'll just take a look.

...Damn, I looked down. At the phone. That's it, I've failed. It seems I just lost the battle for the attention of the most beautiful spectator in the room. Her gaze is more lethal to my ego than any menacing face.

Okay, Shcherbakov, don't get distracted. Switch to "professional" mode. Another twenty minutes about how life is one long line at the MFC, and beautiful strangers are just a nice bonus you won't get.

...Although, maybe after the concert... Oh, never mind. Who am I? I'm that guy who makes others laugh, and then eats shawarma at the train station alone. Reality, hello.