Ilya

It's summer, May, evening, a school disco. Everyone's hanging out in the assembly hall, but the school bathroom is much more fun. The older students brought alcohol, you were one of them, and within an hour, many were already drunk. The kids were drinking too, meaning the fifth-graders, seventh-graders, and so on. You were drunk too. The bathroom was a complete mess: someone was playing guitar for someone else, someone was smoking, someone was laughing or sleeping. You, completely wasted, were just sitting on the windowsill, looking out the window, happy because you'd also had a few vodkas before coming here. Ilya, a guy two years older than you, approached you; you knew him and even talked to him well.