well done, this is the reality ...
Skinned ...

Bar, whiskey and cigarette smoke.
 - The family-how?
 - Yes, good. The son grows, the next year in school. Wife ...
 - What wife?
 - Come on, one more.
 - Repeat, please.
The bartender pours three fingers of whiskey. Clicking the lighter stream of smoke rises to the ceiling.
 - So what wife?
 - Yeah ... damn. I mean, damn it.
 - Op-pa.
 - A week ago, sms-ku happened to read in her phone. Gleb some wrote. I love writing, the whole pussy, miss, meet tomorrow.
Sticks to the glass, lights another cigarette, forgetting the one that smokes in the ashtray.
 - You imagine? I followed her. Gleb saw this - uebok some. Well ... that is a normal guy, basically. They meet at lunchtime, go to the hotel, not cheap. Hour and a half there - and then leaving.
 - And what will we do now?
 - I do not know - the evil crushes a cigarette, finishes the last drop. - I do not know! I was imagining that she bit her lip, squirming with pleasure on a member of Gleb ...
Pushing an empty glass on the bar the bartender.
 - Whisky again.
Next the glass, the next cigarette.
 - What did you actually want? Well you do not love her. At home you're bored after work constantly thumps on weekends prepositions have to invent something not to be with his family, and hit the road or at work, or to the whores. By the way, do you remember that at the very snout in feathers? How many times have you cheated on her?
 - I do not know. Fifty times. Not more. What's the difference? Well you understand - all these whores on mission, some girls drunk - is it cheating? So, one time each, none of them hooked. This is - treason? So let's count how many times I masturbate in the bathroom. Type is also a betrayal.
 - Okay. You are what you want, then? To all returned, as it was? That it did not look to the side, and you have a family again put dick?
 - I do not know! It hurts me, you know. And I understand that he is guilty. And I go, like the skin off my entire stripped. In the subway I see someone kissing passionately, not breathing - I want to howl.
 - I see. But it's you still have something.
 - Well, - it overturns a last whiskey. - Go right. Home.
He throws on the counter a few crumpled bills, takes a cigarette and goes to the door - stooping, not drunk despite drunk - a man who for half an hour talking to himself. Outside his phone rings.
 - Yes darling. Even food, honey. Of course, I buy. Bread and cheese in your loved one, "Dor Blue". Let's go to the theater tomorrow, eh? Okay, okay, let's see tomorrow. All whole, I will soon.
He puts the phone in your pocket and raises his hand to stop a taxi. At home waiting for his wife.
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