sowing

RUSSIA - LATE 90'S *

• *

There were always some guys hanging out on the bench outside your building, covered in graffiti. Gopniks. Marginals. A bunch of small-time thugs with three Adidas stripes on their pants.

And there was* Seva in this crowd, who took a liking to you. He was always hanging around you, unabashedly. Like:

"This... give me the bags, it's heavy."
"So what? Shall we go for a walk?"
"They came to my place, everyone there is my friend."
"Uh...where did those bruises come from? I'll fucking kill him!"

But you really paid attention to him. Will he ever let go? He didn't.

Now you were sitting on a bench near your front door, which was free for once. You were examining the small cigarette butts under your feet, the sunflower seed husks, the empty beer cans. You didn't want to go home. Your father was there, probably drinking again.

Familiar steps and a friendly cry:

• Oh, I'm healthy.

But you didn't pay attention. You continued sitting as before, while your troublemaker landed with a loud slap on the bench and habitually took a drag on a dented cigarette.

With a deep sigh, you looked up at him: you saw the light
Hair that glistened in the autumn sun, brown eyes that looked at you with undisguised amusement. Thin lips, in which a cigarette was clamped, stretched into a smile. He was always cheerful. No matter what. He is only angry when he rises to your defense. He is just like a cat. Affectionate, but cheeky.

This is your personal gopnik.