Sometimes I go to a nearby store not in the street, but in yards. I shorten the path, passing by five-story building Khrushchev. Drew attention to one window on the first floor. The frame is old. The windows have not been washed for a long time, the hostess is also an old one. Such windows are only for old and lonely people.
On the window of the room are exhibited for display photos and diplomas of the Soviet era. I stopped. The letter is dated 1983 year. Issued for achievements in the work of the owner of the apartment.
From the photo on us looks beautiful. The turbid glass of the window does not spoil the fresh, pleasant face of a young woman with full lips.
Here it is life. The old woman, like a child, paraded the most precious thing she had left - a letter. And your beautiful portrait.
And I recognized the window. Here lives exactly that grandmother, who in the winter, leaning out of her wretched apartment, feeds homeless cats nestling in the basement.
This is the kind soul that throws crumbs to pigeons flying to its window.
When it was cold, the old woman sat by the window and always waved her hand when I walked past. In appearance, she is far beyond 80.
I did not know her, but in response I also began to wave her hand, as if my friend. Since then, we have become so greet each other.
When spring came, the granny was sticking out of the window, “walking”. And I heard how to passersby she said with a smile: "I wish you well. Only good ..."
Once she quietly sang, squinting in the sun, a song of her youth: "The leaves are yellow above the city spinning ..."
Loneliness. Old age. Many, not very old people, constantly complain about their fate, life, illness, government, neighbors, children ... They turn into such insect beetles, always dissatisfied with something, unnoticed by themselves.