Notes of a Russian homeless. Humorous stories. StaWle Zosimov Wisewordski

Damn, there is a pool.

      – — Well.., and cars around.

      – — You, Dan bazaar, that there is a place?

      – — Muuu. – said Denis. – wait, huh?! There!.. Basement!!. I lived in it for six months!!!

      We turned towards him.

      Having descended through the cardboard down the steps of the basement porch, from the left we saw a jamb and a third of the door hanging on it, apparently, the entrance to the basement.

      – — Take it off!! I shouted to a gypsy. He famously yanked her away, the door fell off with a roar. The gypsy stepped inside the doorway.

      – — Oh-boy, but shit floats here?! – the gypsies were frightened and, splashing on the water, came back to us.

      – — What is it, soaring? – asked Dan.

      – — Come on and here on the island we have a drink. Light falls from the opening and there is no one. (That is, cops). – I decided and took a bottle of port. Opening it in a circle with my teeth, I handed it to a friend. I want to note that only communists, cops, military and homeless people have the right to truly call each other “comrade!” And what: things are free; food in garbage cans or feeding, also free; housing in basements and attics, again free. What is not communism?! In short, my friend accepted the offer from me with pleasure. I opened another bottle of port and offered it to Dan and the third, opening, I handed the gypsy. They fell into confusion, and I took out a disposable glass and introduced it into the center of the crowd.

      – — Che, hatched? Pour?! – I smiled. The three of them poured me at a time and again fell into confusion, staring at me intently.

      – — What are you staring at? Have a drink! I suggested and drank a glass. The silence was broken by the incomprehensible comrade.

      – — And this is not even an island, but this wh-how-it?

      – — Ass. – Gypsies affirmed.

      – — Yeah… no, well-well-well-noon-well-noon,..

      – — Well, well?

      – — P-peninsula, moron. – corrected with a mockery of Dan.

      – — Yeah. Gypsy gypsy, what are you doing? – Comrade averted his attention.

      – — Kuz Jabere, Vishma.

      – -And in Russian? I asked.

      – — In Russian do not translate.

      – — Look, dispelled the minute silence and extended the finger of one hand, Comrade, and the other held, clenching a fist with clothes, the gypsy at that time raked up a wave to himself, causing everything floating to move. Circles appeared on the water from the column on the ledge of the basement room, illuminated in complete twilight, then a shabby bald head and a swollen muzzle of some woman. And all this is not so hasty.

      – — Oh well, to hell?! – Surprised without stuttering Comrade.

      – — Get out of here!! – stood up Dan with a bubble of wine.

      – — Oh-bye, a corpse!! – The gypsy jumped out and dropped his bottle, the one for the Ulka, spilling out. – Oh-fight, mumbler!! – he was even more frightened and raised a bubble.

      – — Yes, a corpse. – I calmly supported.

      We continued the booze in another place.

      Week later. On a nickle near the Alexander Nevsky Lavra metro station, the Cop bubo drove in, stopped far from us and two guardians came out of it and moved towards us, well, very slow. We drank at the column of the Moscow Hotel. We had a choice: either to drink alcohol diluted with holy water from the Lavra, but to fall into the hands of justice; or break in different directions, but do not plump and do not bring their condition to normal. I and a couple of comrades moved a little further on opposite sides, dispersing and scattering the view of the crowd.

      They took Big Seryoga with a black eye, whose lower eyelids looked like a labia. And his drinking companions. The reason was, as it later turned out: the removal of the corpse from the basement, where we had previously tried to plump. The corpse, it turns out after our departure, in turn, having made a weekly semicircle, stuck to the work of the heating main with a diameter of two hundred millimeters each, a rigid pair of bundles and wrapped in burlap, and fiberglass…

      A young non-local student, kicked out on the eve of a booze from a student dormitory, climbed into the depths of the basement on a blackboard thrown by someone and wet his feet and jumped on a pipe, and the wave became agitated. The guy, not accustomed to the floor with gloomy light, he drunk fell sideways on the heating plant and snored. Nearby a floating corpse, rushed and swam into the dense. Touching the kid’s tailbone, nose. The corpse froze. In the morning, a thick ray of light did not even prevent the guy from resting. He was catching up with lost days of insomnia.