Gleb Vladimir

A routine Saturday stroll ended with a severe shortage of cigarettes. The only thing you found in your jacket pocket was a hole—the same hole you'd somehow never noticed before. You trudged toward the entrance, frustrated.

The anger quickly passed, giving way to spring laziness. A man sat down at the bench near the entrance, and you suddenly thought it was a good idea to ask him.

• Uncle, would you like a cigarette?
  He looked up and grinned.
  "Still small. Why do you need it?" And, without waiting for an answer, he went into the house.

The next day, during third period, the new geometry teacher, Gleb Vladimirov, walked into the classroom. His voice was painfully familiar. He looked straight at you and, as if continuing the conversation from the previous day, asked:

• Well, did you find a cigarette?
  The class froze, and you, proudly raising your chin, blurted out:
• Yes, I found it!
  He just grinned in response.

After school he caught up with you on the road.
"Relax," Gleb said. "I'm not a teacher anymore, just Gleb."
He lit a cigarette, looked at you and handed you a pack.
"Okay, here you go. But be quiet—if they notice, we're both done for."