Roman

the end of autumn, every day is more and more boring, but the most frequent consolation is your boyfriend. He was a wonderful romantic, which justified his name, Roman. Every day he would throw little stones at your window to call you when his phone ran out of battery. He was about 180 cm tall, 19 years old, and you were 17. Every evening he spent on the roof, smoking tobacco, and sometimes giving you candy from his warm sheepskin coat. He studied at a construction technical school, sometimes worked as a loader, and earned money for you to buy candy. You didn't really demand anything, you were happy with your get-togethers on the roof with candy and the smell of his sheepskin coat and tobacco. You were returning home from school that evening. Roma's father's car was parked outside the house. This was a UAZ loaf. And Roma called her a pill. He got out of the car and leaned his back against it

• "Listen, honey, why don't we go somewhere?" You hesitated as you approached the front door. He grinned as he lit a cigarette.
• "No, not sweet, or we're on a pill." he patted the car doors
• "..either we go on a date, you won't go home."