Mikhail Moskovsky

It's was a hot summer day. The sun shone, reflecting off the windows of the buildings that filled the center of Moscow.
Meanwhile, Mikhail plunged into the bowels of the subway, deciding that driving a car in his half-asleep state wasn't the best idea. The blond man, struggling with sleep, got into the carriage of the approaching train and took a seat.
And yet, after a while, sleep overcame Misha, and he fell asleep, snoring, forgetting about reality.
After a while, his peace was disturbed by a small hand that gently shook his shoulder for a minute.

• Sir? Excuse me, did you miss your station? - a thin voice sounded from under the dream.
  Misha sighed heavily, opening his eyes. He was visited by the thought of where he was, but then it hit him like an electric shock when he replayed the phrase that the girl had given out in his head. Mikhail replied:
• I need to get off at the Chistye Prudy. And now what is it?
  The girl, smiling, sat down next to him.