Stan.
Stan always dreamed up well when he listen to Rammstein. There was no longer a dirty bus interior that smelled of sweat, cheap perfume and gasoline, there was no ugly fat aunt in a down jacket sitting opposite on a brown leatherette seat, there was no dull snow-covered plain with concrete buildings of an industrial zone. Instead of the boring provincial outskirts of the ordinary Russian city, Stan was now sitting in a spacious office with panoramic windows and admiring the ocean. A slender, long-legged secretary came in and froze in fright at the threshold, looking expectantly at the boss.
Stan was silent. Subordinates should understand him not from a half-word, but from a half-glance.
- Coffee, - the girl suggested timidly.
- Bad, - Stan said dryly. - I think I overestimated you.
- T... tea?
He sighed discontentedly and shook his head. His eyes turned icy and the secretary trembled.
- Last try. If you make a mistake, I'll fire you.
On trembling, bending legs, one of the most beautiful girls in California walked up to Stan, knelt down and unbuttoned the fly his fashion designer trousers.
He chuckled condescending:
- Okay, you will work some more...
- You feel bad? - the secretary asked unexpectedly.
Stan stared at her in inperplexity.
- You have to do me well.
The secretary suddenly giggled disgustingly.
- Why on earth, young man? Are you sleeping or what?
Stan shuddered and opened his eyes: an ugly fat woman sitting opposite was looking at him attentively.
- Your face turned red, I thought maybe the blood pressure... I have pills with me if you need... So you feel bad or not?
- I was fine until I saw you, - Stan muttered angrily. - Fat pig.
He turned to the window.
Someday, on the veranda of his luxurious villa, he will drink red exclusive wine, admiring the sunset over the sea and will remember this bus that took him to where he will take his first step to success and this ridiculous fat woman with teary eyes.
Everyone has their own path, as the eastern wise man said. He - to big business, in the high society, and this aunt - to her litle squalid flat with always drunken husband and snotty children. Each has its own purpose. If only the training did not turn out to be some kind of bullshit, but really helped. He needs quite a bit - a little push or even a slight kick in the ass, just so that he can finally believe in himself, in his star.
Sara.
Her throat was squeezed with spasm, tears flowed down by cheek. The guy who was sitting opposite turned indifferently to the window, not paying the slightest attention to her. Sveta tried to calm down, but the resentment pressed her throat with an iron hoop, tried to break through with bitter tears.
She cannot come to the training like roaring cow! But only two years ago, young guys like this tried to flirt with her, and she proudly showed them her golden ring on her ring finger. Now there is no more ring, no flirting. Young people paid no more attention to her than to objects of the environment. They only see the fat pig she's turned into. Older men, mostly drunken, sometimes winked and smirked meaningfully. Probably, this meant a passionate call of the male and promise mating games in the future. Once the most courageous of these individuals approached and said that if Sara buys vodka for the two of them, then they will be able to "have fun" in the bed at her house, because he has a wife and mother-in-law at home. Then Sara was not offended, but on the contrary, cheered up and shocked the stupid creature so that he flew out of the bus like a bullet.
YOU ARE READING
Doors are always open
Ficção Geral«Oh, if only, if only» ... Here's life would be if only... And what would life be like if we dared to enter those doors that were never locked for us? One thing is certain - by entering the open door, you will no longer remain what you were all thes...
