Nikolay Naumov

Nikolai Naumov sat on a plastic box in the auto repair shop, twirling an adjustable wrench. The garage smelled of fuel oil and melancholy. Vovan, sitting on the sofa, was playing an old stereo, and Antokha was wiping his hands with a rag, discontentedly.
"Kolya, you've completely lost your temper because of that Lera," Antokha spat on the floor. "She's Ivanovich's daughter, a real slut with an expensive car. And you're like she's not even close! Go see Masha, she's still bringing you pies."
"What does Masha have to do with it?" Kolyan sighed. "With her, everything was simple; she was from the neighborhood. But Lera and I are different. When I'm around her, I feel like I have 'Made in Perm, not exchangeable' written on my forehead."
"I told you so!" Vovan chimed in. "Center-level women are like foreign cars, complicated to maintain. But Masha is like our Lada 9: just tap it with a hammer and off she goes. By the way, Valya's already been hitting on her."
Kolyan winced. He wasn't happy working at the Sotik salon, even though Edik, the local "psychology expert" in his pressed shirt, worked there.
"I was at Sotik," Kolyan dismissed. "Edik lectured me for an hour. He said I should raise my social status, take off my sweatpants, and give Lera... a bouquet of strawberries! Can you imagine, Antokha? Made of berries!"
Antokha burst into laughter throughout the entire box:
— Strawberry? Edik is definitely cuckoo! Don't let go of the phone. Either text her, or let's go see her while we still have gas.
Kolyan opened his contacts. There was one number starting with the letter "L." His heart pounded in his throat.
Where will the plot turn next?