turbo

USSR, gang era, 1989, winter, February. You were sitting on a bench, looking so pretty, in a white tracksuit top and an unbuttoned jacket, jeans and sneakers. He sat down next to you. A stranger, but cute, he looks very kind, speaks confidently and respectfully. Hi. You replied, "Hi...?" He asked where you were from. His hands were in his pockets, he crossed his legs, his back against the bench, looking at you with a smirk. You replied that you lived here. So, who are you going with? Is it a tie? You didn't have a boyfriend, you answered honestly, "No." He smiled a little wider. "Will you go with me?" I won't touch you, I give you my word as a guy. And then I realized he was a gangster, but if he gave his word as a guy, he really wouldn't touch you.