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So we are organized. The colder, the more we remember the summer. We look at the frozen slush on roadsides and see flower beds. Wrapped in a winter jacket, wistfully recalling that recently ran in the same T-shirts.
And what getting older ... old? Probably. The get older, the more often we recall childhood. No, our temples have not seen in years, this is still oh how far. But ... But what I explain, you know, you know. True?
I was then a little bit, in the distant 90th year. Our family had just moved to Ukraine. It was a pretty hot summer day. On particularly hot as for the boy, newly arrived from Russia is not so warm. And the trolley, in which I was riding, was packed, and it does not add to the comfort. I stood there, clutching the handrail next to the seat on which sat a little strange man. Well, for me, a strange course. Because the surrounding is nothing strange or unusual, most likely, it was not observed. And I went and looked and could not understand - why this man is a sailor's vest jacket usual. She saw through the edge of the open collar.
So I went, then glancing out the window, on the edge of the vest. At one of the stops in the interior came not so much older, stout woman, with two string bags stuffed with food. I did not like it at once. I never liked people with this view. And I still do not like. Revolve head, looked around, she strongly pushed me to the side and stood next to the man yelled. No, I did not speak, and it screamed as the vocal apparatus of aunts, broody arranged in such a way that does not scream they simply can not.
 - No, you just look at him! There is an elderly woman, and the nozzle green, Russell and sitting! Who do we have grown as well? Who raised?
The man flinched and then looked up at her.
 - Yes Yes! This I tell you! And there is nothing on my own shameless eyes stared! I am ashamed, gave way!
He did not answer. Just silence, a bit awkward, he rose from his seat and stood beside.
The aunt immediately plopped down on the seat and won back proudly, after examining all around, beginning to build out their shopping bags comfortably.
People around, silently observing the situation continued as silently looking out the window. We drove on. One stop second. Soon I had had to go.
I raised my head and looked at the man. Now I could not see his vest. But one could see his face. He was pale, biting her lip and rolled his forehead sweat. I was surprised. Yes, the day was hot, but not so much so.
We drove up to my stop, when he suddenly dropped his hands helplessly, letting go of the rail, and the bag fell down.
People involuntarily parted to the side, an elderly man in glasses, who was standing beside him, gently grabbed him under the arms. One leg of a man rode up and I saw that his shoe goes into the varnished piece of wood. Prosthesis, I knew it.
People noticed it, too.
"Afghan invalid" - heard voices around.
Man picked up in his arms and carried out of the trolley on the air.
And I stayed inside. Yes, that was my stop, and with the next I was pretty far back. But I had to look at her face.
She's digging in shopping bags, shifting products. Her face expressed neither shock nor surprise. No-thing.
What I expected to see there, I do not know. And I do not know yet. Or know.
You ask me about the moral of the story. And I do not know. Just seems winter. Just seems years.

© Ammok

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