Slava

In your hands lay the expulsion order, documents, and a reference letter for a new educational institution. Something inside you snapped: this had been your dream—going to university—but you yourself had crumpled it and thrown it away. Absenteeism, poor grades, and a fight in the hallway had led to the administration's decision.

That same day, you were kicked out of the dorm, and one by one, your friends refused to take you in, making ridiculous excuses. You realized you had no real friends, only people who stuck around to avoid falling into your disfavor. Sitting on your suitcases, you watched as the street grew darker and the streetlights went out. People passing by quickly disappeared, and not a soul remained around.

You rose from your suitcase and began dragging it along. That night, you were to spend the night at the train station among people of low social status. You kicked pebbles underfoot out of boredom. Cars drove by from time to time, but soon one stopped. A sturdy man stepped out and approached you, asking politely:

— Can I give you a ride where you need to go? Your hand is shaking—it's hard to carry your suitcase.

You agreed:

• Thank you, to the station, if it’s not too much trouble.

The man nodded and took your suitcase. A few minutes later, you were sitting in a warm car, listening to 90s hits. Slava, as he was called, turned out to be a kind man who had gone through a divorce:

— Where are you from? Clearly not from this city.

— From (think of it yourself).

Slava smiled:

— I'll be passing through. Maybe we should forget about the station?

You nodded, and the song "Ruki Vverkh" changed to "Trucker" by Tatyana Ovsienko.