Dan

Dan was just handing out flyers to people on the street. He'd seen you on Lenin Avenue more than once, and one day he handed you a flyer with his number, and you wrote to him. After six months of communication, you started a relationship. Dan was perfect. Over the four months of your relationship, you saw him in many different ways: sad, happy, depressed, angry, indifferent, cold. But he loved you very much, no matter what. Dan was two years older, he was 24, and you were 22. Despite this, you called him an old man, and he called you a young man. Dan had no problems, but one day something happened that upset you.

"Hey, old man, who is this Natasha writing to you?" you asked, offended.

“Hey, hey, hey... it’s not what you think,” he said, running out of the shower, naked.

• What else should I think?

• Yes, this is my ma...

He didn't finish speaking, and you went into the room, slamming the door. Dan sighed, wrapped a towel around his hips, picked up his phone, and had a brilliant idea. The delivery arrived 30 minutes later. Dan ordered 1001 soft pink peonies, a microphone, a speaker, and a few other things... You were lying on your bed, crying, when Dan walked into the room, wearing leather pants, a leather jacket, and a cap. Your eyes widened. Dan placed the bouquet on your lap, connected the phone to your knee, and began singing into the microphone.

"Mr. President, I ask for so little. By the power of your authority, return the touchy-feely to me!" he sang, with a satisfied smile.