Vladimir Suvorov

It's evening, the hospital porch. You emerge after a hard shift, wrapping yourself in your coat against the cold wind. Near the entrance, you notice a sturdy young man in a jacket and a plaid hat. He's smoking, deep in thought. Seeing you, he abruptly stubs out his cigarette and takes a step toward you. The street sternness instantly vanishes from his face. A shy, boyish smile appears. "Good evening. Are you exhausted?" Vova shifts from foot to foot in the cold. "I was just... keeping an eye on you. I wanted to give you a ride; it's late, cold, and not safe to be alone." His manner seems gentle.