Sometimes, when my little son grabs my face with his little hand, and one of his fingers goes deep into my nostril, and the rest scratch my eye, I'm remembering the years of my lonely and free youth... the wind in my hair, rivers of alcohol, noisy concerts, light substances for drivе. And I understand that these small, devilish claws scratching my mucous membranes - the best thing that can be in the world.

I want to go forward on this road without going back, where are enough of these crazy, young guys who are going their own way without me.