Lies of closed eyes. Виктория Олеговна Рогозина

turned off the light. But it was great. Light poured into small windows under the very ceiling, bizarrely reflected from the tiles, it found its place in a silvery glow in the water surface, rustling and shimmering with sparks. An amazing sight.

      The next evening, having splashed enough, I went to the shower room, and from there to the locker room. She glanced at herself in the mirror. Short, skinny. Perhaps too thin, looks sickly and even anorexic. Medium length hair. Well, although the shade is closer to ashen than to gold, the truth is that this does not save me from hackneyed jokes about the mental abilities of blondes, sadly.