Route No. 8

INT. Minibus - impulse - July 1

INT. Minibus - impulse - July 1

- Thank you," I replied to the person who handed me the change.

I tried to step on, but it didn't work, I didn't notice how crowded this bus was, how little comfort there was in it, and how there was nowhere to fart. Still, it attracted not only me. It gives me confidence.

Accordingly, without hesitation .

- "Please pass it to the driver," he passed one branch forward.

- "What? Why would I do that?" the driver muttered.

- The driver, calm down, just put it somewhere over there, above the icon, and I'll pick it up later. - I'll really get it.

Without waiting for an answer, I began to scan the limited space, not a terminator, of course, but I can be attentive too. Behind the driver sat a grandmother and her granddaughter, faded but clean clothes, hollows on her face enough to suggest that she had worked all her life, probably at a factory. After all, everyone worked in a factory back then, it was a logical assumption. The granddaughter was so fascinated by the embroidered curtains that she didn't even hear what her grandmother was saying.

- "Don't touch it, uncle the driver will quarrel," a grandmother told her granddaughter.

For her, a whole new world opened up on that curtain, a new world? Rather, an old one, long forgotten. Why forgotten? We have bad habits, they have always tried to impose their own, dirty things on us.

My grandmother strives to do what is right from the point of view of her inner criticism, and for me it is only a fear of attracting attention. I can watch her for a long time, but is there any point? Logically, I'll leave them alone for now.

Once again, my confidence was hidden behind a cloud of fear.

He pulled a black notebook with a matte cover out of his pocket and reached the page with the bookmark. I took it out and stood looking at the laminated lavender. This is a coincidence that I should have noticed even sooner, but Freud, you're a cracker.

It took me some time to come to my senses. I went through the records, took a lungful of air.

He exhaled, walking back into the cabin.

- "Please allow me," I said politely.

- and that you don't have to stand there, you don't see that there is no room, - a passenger in a work uniform...

- Sorry - me.

After walking 2-3 steps, I looked at a woman of about 29 years old, holding a child, probably already in kindergarten. Nothing special, just a contrast. The contrast between her behavior and that of my grandmother. There was no longer any correctness or ethical standards. The woman didn't care, the child was just asking her questions:

- Why do clouds move fast and slow?

Mom, why do cars go backwards?

Mom? Mom? Mom?

In this case, inaction is her credo in life. How long has it been? I think the answer is obvious. I am not a psychologist, but she looked anxious and uncertain. Perhaps this is too scary a conclusion based on one factor and her eyes were empty, transparent, it was the first thing that caught my eye.

Under the eyes, circles are already eating into the skin from constant busyness. Is this her way of overcoming her anxiety or is this child just that naughty?

Next to the woman sat a hulk, not green, but blue, so we can assume that the war against infinity is not just empty words for him,

water = infinity...