I snuggle up to Denis and whisper in his ear:

- I'm scared already.

- Are you very afraid? He smirks.

“Uh-huh,” I nod.

- When I'm scared, I sing a song to myself, and everything passes.

- And I read a prayer, but nothing passes, - I say, - what kind of song is that?

Denis puts his belt and boots in a basket and continues in a half whisper:

“It’s called a song about a straw,” he says.

“Aaah, I know this song,” I blossom in a smile, while I take off my shoes, without them I’m a whole head lower than him.

“You are so small,” Denis...