In the underground

By ordinary people walk by. I want to think - you are one of them. But it is worth stopping, extending a hand, saying hello, talking ... Looking in your eyes, smiling ... And you understand - the commonness of people in their individual uniqueness. And you, next to them, are completely ordinary.
Although...

I stand in the subway, I read a boring book. It may not be boring, but there is no opportunity to concentrate - everyone is talking - by phone between themselves. On the one hand the carriage is pushed through, with the New Year calendar raised up, a certain woman explains in a boring voice what kind of happiness will befall anyone who has bought this item cheaply.
From the other end comes the band of musical accompaniment. Guitarist keeps left fingerboard and open package. Behind a large man with a bayan. They sing something to their music. Do not disassemble.

I stand sideways pressed to two ladies. The book, in my hands, is almost at the very nose. They do not see my face, and I listen to them carefully. There is ...
- Once, when I was wandering along the path in the wilds of the jungle of Nepal, I heard the crunch of twigs behind my back. Looking back, I saw a huge elephant who stood on the path a couple of meters away, looked at me and, in a friendly way, waved his big ears ... An unforgettable meeting, all the more I was alone and what to do was not clear ... Elephants walk very quietly, and rhinos too.
'Once, when I was wandering along the path in the wilds of the jungle of Nepal ...' - the beginning is impressive! And in the wide deserted expanses of Mongolia, madam, did not wander? Or the silent expanses of the Arctic?
How did you get into the jungle jungle of Nepal? And what happened to the local guide? Did you leave him halfway? Or was he crushed by an elephant? And, sorry, really elephant 'crunches twig'? Is he so sensitive and cautious with his entire multi-ton mass?
My station. It is a pity, you need to go out without listening to what the story about the Nepalese jungle jungle ended.

Again the subway. Late evening. The carriage is half empty. Basically, the couple cling before parting. They are silent - they have fingers instead of words. I sit, read a boring book. Maybe it’s not boring, but it’s boring for me - no one to part with ...

The carriage stops. Two loud-speaking ladies enter the door. Sit down beside and, without ceasing, talk.
“How do you know Arica ?!” He has long lived in the Maldives. I was with him last fall. 'Aston Martin', bungalows, palm trees, sand on the beach - sugar. You wake up in the morning, you put your legs straight into the ocean. For breakfast champagne with caviar. For lunch champagne with lobster. For dinner champagne with strawberries.
My station. Need to go out. And I want to hear more about the Maldives. I go home in the wet snow, and before my eyes 'legs in the ocean and strawberries with champagne for dinner'. And it does not matter - whence the strawberries in the Indian Ocean - why not ?! There and on 'Martin' nowhere to go.
But after all there is Arik and he ALL can.

Everyone knows the sensations when a sudden thunderstorm drastically changes the calm flow of the day.
Strong, gusty wind. On the teeth will hold the sand. Eyes are watery. Thunder shakes the breath of air. I want more torrential rain and, having found shelter, to observe the elements from a safe place.

Hard after heavy guests. Going home with one desire - rather in a warm bed. And also transfer from line to line. At the transfer station, noticeably flickering of young people in identical scarves, hats, excited to the limit. On the desired line on the platforms merged two identical flow. The air vibrates. Feels stress. Probably wrote a classic about it: 'Storm! Soon the storm will break out! ” Although, when he wrote these immortal words, there were no stadiums and national championships, there were no 'fans' and no kiosks selling fan accessories. Although ... Something similar probably was. For example, pogroms.
The crowd puts me in the car under the jubilant "Dinamo" slogans - champion! It is impossible to raise a hand, to go further - a body in one place, a briefcase in another. Lightning on the jacket holds for now, but can fly off at any time. This is the epicenter of the typhoon, the center of the tornado crater, a natural disaster caused by the score of one team scored against the other.
A teenager is screaming and sputtering over her ear. He is ecstatic - his eyes popped out of orbit, a blue and white cap slid to the back of his head, wet hair stuck to his pryish forehead. "Dynamo" - the champion! he screams. 'Dynamo' - our champion! ' - the answer to the call explode voices nearby. 'Dynamo'!!! 'Dynamo'!!! 'Dynamo'!!! - yelling the whole car.
The carriage stops. The doors opened with difficulty. Some mummers roll out with shouts to the station. The carriage is slightly better. And so, from station to station is quieter and more familiar. For one stage to the desired stop, the car completely quieted down. Nearby is the lad who screamed over my ear. Silently, leaning his forehead against the glass door. The caps are gone. Only the blue and white scarf reminds of the last thunderstorm.
The grandmother comes up to him, stretches the cap: 'Son, it fell from you, I saw it. Wear it, and then it will blow it, but it’s all wet. ”
The guy otlipaet from the glass, on the face of embarrassment: 'Thank you granny. This is not mine, this is a friend gave vilify. " He took a gray one out of his pocket, pulled it over his head, took off the scarf and put it in his pocket.
From the other end of the car, as the distant sounds of a thunderstorm raced, Dynamo sounded the champion! The boy did not even turn in that direction.
We left at one station. He walked a little ahead. Quiet, ordinary guy, what a lot.

Come to visit friends for a holiday and go under the walls here and there, waiting to be forced to sit down, although the hostess has long begged the guests: "I ask at the table, dear guests." The first is somehow indecent. So it turns out - you sit down with a stranger and the whole feast will not know what to talk with him. But not always.

Nearby sits a sweet, smiling woman. I offer dishes, pour, clink glasses, try to talk. I praise her dress - it is really very beautiful for my taste.
In the feast there is a pause. I ask the neighbor to tell something about yourself. Maybe because of my remark about the dress, she says:
- I had a fur coat on the 3rd year - “under the bear cub” was called - artificial fur, of course.
And for some reason I had to call on my father in his department in the ministry. (One time there was - this one). A fur coat for the year fell down and the species no longer had any.
Come, pass, go. And all such elegant there !!! And fashionable !! And I'm in this coat ...
And my mother saved money for an apartment for me, and my brother for a car (saved, and then all disappeared) and therefore did not dress us very well with my brother, but I didn’t earn anything and didn’t ask to buy, and so, I sit around my neck. This younger brother from the 2nd course began to unload wagons first, then they invented something else with his friends, and he even earned his vacation. In short, I go, sullen, by this ministry, then I met my father, and then my boss saw us.
And he told his dad the next day that the girl should be better dressed, she would be more fun!
The neighbor was silent. I looked at the glass. Poured. We drank.
- And why am I? About this fur coat. I do not know. Then there was a very limited selection of faux fur coats and almost the same in all the ateliers. Then I made a rug from this fur coat to give a “bear” ...
And my mother had a fur coat made from a rabbit - “under a seal” (sea - of course). She wore it for a very long time — in the cold and on a visit — and every day — she wore a coat. And that fur was really very smooth to the touch and pleasant looking.
And my artificial 'under the bear' was rough and shaggy - only the first month shone.
Silent again. I automatically poured into the glass.
“Why am I telling you this?” About some fur coats. Yes, even in the middle of the summer ...
- It is very interesting to me.
- Laugh ?! What is so interesting about it?
- Presented a beautiful young woman dressed 'under'. You told a lot through this fur coat. And I will remember the words of my father's forever for a long time.
- What kind?
- “The girl should be better dressed, she will be more fun!” And you were no longer a girl, and maybe already a woman.
- What do you! I am before marriage ... (flushed).
- Well, you got a dress reflex on your cheeks.
- conditional?
- You can say so.
- The owner told me that you are an artist.
- Right said.
“Then you should be completely uninterested in everything I told you.”
- Let's drink a little more and I will explain to you - what interested me in your story about the fur coat 'under the teddy bear'. We drank.
- Listening to your story, I saw myself dreaming from childhood to become a great artist, and ... more than half of his life he gave to manufacturing products under. You can say this: it was me, one of many, who "dressed" people with products "under the bear cub." Not in artificial fur, but in artificial art. He called forward, wrote 'You are going the right way, comrades!', Painted smiling faces looking into tomorrow with confidence. Smoke pipes of factories, fire-breathing martens, fields erupting under the bright sun, along which ships went combines with cheerful combineers. Received substantial fees, a part of a truant with friends, for the rest I bought my fur coats for the rest 'under the bear cub'. It seemed to me that there was no other way out (or perhaps the entrance?). So many of my friends and acquaintances lived. And inside there was a dull thorn and periodically pressed on consciousness.
"The girl should be better dressed, she will be more fun!" - well said. Outwardly, it was very fun. In the external one could afford a lot. It was artificial, but who then thought about naturalness? Visibility, 'under' - was the basis of being, which defined consciousness.
But the splinter did reach some important part of the body and pressed so hard that it became difficult to breathe. It is possible that I was fed up, or the situation with propaganda has changed, or just tired. Anyway, now to the question: "Are you an artist?" - I answer without doubting: 'Yes'.

I confess that my explanation in a conversation with a neighbor in a feast "what interested me in your story about a fur coat" was not in reality. That day, having spoken to the general pleasure, we parted. I took the phone from my neighbor on the table and gave mine. Then she came several times to the workshop and praised (kind of sincerely) my work. Then I visited several times in her research institute and praised (precisely sincerely) the results of her scientific research. Then, we have a habit of calling all dubious "well, it's under the bear." And we go to feasts together. And we sit, still close.

And then I sat down and wrote everything from above. The usual thing.