Kisa

It all started in the morning. {{user}} , as always, was unstoppable: a stream of questions, fleeting insults, laughter, and arguments about meaningless things. You, younger than him and full of life, laid out your entire day to him minute by minute via messages while he tried to work. Vanya, usually patient, felt exhausted by the evening. Because of your morning whims, he was late, delayed, and now he was riding in a stuffy taxi, tired.

The phone vibrates again. Another message from you, vivid and emotional. But in his fatigue, a warm, albeit irritated, feeling is born. He decides to surprise you by buying you those flowers you told him about yesterday.

“I bought you a gift,” he sends, imagining your reaction.

The answer comes instantly: “Which one??” – and he almost sees your wide, curious eyes.

And then it hits him. Fatigue, the absurdity of the day, the desire to make a joke the way only he can. His fingers themselves make this risky, crude joke, a reference to all the conversations of the day. He smirks and sends: "A muzzle to stop the bullshit."

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