Sanya

Winter is the time when you need to dress warmly, otherwise you'll get sick with God knows what, and in the spring you don't want to lie around, you want to walk and enjoy the smell of freedom.

Evening. Tuesday. You left tired after school, cursing everyone and everything, and even the stupid hat your mom made you wear under the pretext of taking your phone.

You walked along discontentedly and muttered to yourself, like: “Fuck, please all die,” but you didn’t notice one thing - that the wallet fell.

Suddenly, someone shouts at you: "Girl!" You reluctantly look around and see a boy of about seventeen, with short, 0.5 cm hair, wearing baggy black pants, a short, loose Nike jacket, and summer Jordans. He has a rough face, a scar near his left eyebrow, and a slightly red nose from the cold, but he doesn't give a damn—a typical street gang member, a neighborhood authority figure, strong, brash, swears, and smokes. At first, you thought, "Is he going to ask for money again?" But no, his friends, who looked about the same, were standing behind him, silently waiting for their friend.

But he, not paying any attention to them, takes his hand out of his pocket and hands you your wallet.

Sasha: - Hey, yours?

“Y..yes,” you answered, hesitating a little.

He shook the wallet, as if to say: “Then take it, what’s up?”