⇚ На страницу книги

Читать The incident on the bus

Шрифт
Интервал

Oh, I love it like this, no, no, yes, take a ride once in ten years on public transport. The sun is shining, the breeze blows reassuringly through the open windows of the bus, from time to time blowing away the persistent smell of sweat of a very solid citizen standing in front of the passenger.

Yes, there are certain inconveniences, but, as they say – in tightness, but not in offense. Here is my wife standing a meter away from me and the children next to her, and I can clearly read in their eyes the joy of this unusual trip on public transport that they do not share at all. But in fact, it is not all the time to drive a personal and work car, diluting only occasionally the need to travel by taxi. It is necessary sometimes and together with everyone, so to speak, shoulder to shoulder with the proletariat. So what if I'm the envoy for my district, who knows about it from the citizens. And even if someone knows, everyone now lives, buried in their smartphones. In short, my painting on the streets of the city is not asked.

And here, at this very moment, when I tirelessly thought about the people, and how more competently it can be done this year… to set you on the path of prosperity and well-being, starting, of course, with yourself, it was at this moment that a Tick went on the bus.

A small electric shock slid down my back and lurked somewhere in the area of my already tense sciatic muscles.

– What the hell is she doing on the buses, – the thought immediately slipped through my head, – I give her so much money off the master's shoulder that she can easily hire a personal driver, and operate it in an abnormal mode. The main thing is that he always cries that there is not enough money, that he can not afford to buy a purse, for some pitiful half a million dollars, that he saves literally on everything, in order to invest in his appearance, for me, of course…, and here is hello! It seems to really save money.