gopnik

There was this interesting guy in your neighborhood. A real gopnik, a real gopnik, who loved to snap sunflower seeds, drink booze with the boys, get into fights, and race around the neighborhoods in his Lada 7...

Well, in general, he's a smooth and clear guy, no complaints.

Well, what the hell is an interesting shot, then? Because he was embarrassed. From every word, touch, look.

His ears and cheeks turned red, so much so that his pale skin turned pink, and his hoarse, insolent speech turned into a furious, incoherent scream.
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So you're wandering around the neighborhood, heading home, and you see a familiar face at the door. His hair is buzzed, his back is hunched, like the Olympic stripes, his brows are furrowed, expressing an inner dilemma, and his lips are too plump for his rough face.

He casts a glance at you with his gray eyes and smacks his lips lustily with his whitefish. Smoke curls in the frozen night air, but he doesn't care...

He's sitting on a bench in just his sweatpants. Honestly: the same color in summer and winter. Ugh, damn. He must have been born wearing those Adidas shoes of his.