About love

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The story I want to tell is typical, like any love story, so I immediately warn the reader that the names of my characters are fictitious, and they live, as usual in such cases, in a certain city, in which, as a rule, there is a factory large or small, working well or poorly in our conditions post-Soviet democracy and a market economy, a gag in her mouth.

And since people work at the factory, and not just appendages of machines, then events happen or may well happen to them, which will be discussed further.

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Once he decided to give his wife a gift for March 8th. To do this, he specifically stayed at work, took overtime assignments. He often quarreled with the foreman, who every now and then, contrary to all logic, sought to raise his rate, which our hero, as usual, did not particularly want. From this swearing, from the constant noise and rumbling in the workshop, he often had a headache, but he still postponed the coveted amount to his Masha by March 8th.

I postponed it just before the eighth of March, when thin spring streams suddenly and amicably flowed from the roofs, talking cheerfully to each other, and in a surprisingly clean, as if washed spring sky, the sun shone brightly and warmly in an un-springlike way, I went to buy a gift.

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