He waits a few seconds for the police to leave and then steps aside to look at my car. I go out after him, limping slightly, but this is not because it hurts me, but rather so that he takes pity on me again. Yes, I am like that, I like to complain, I love it when they pity me, and who doesn’t.

Denis looks at the dent appraisingly and pulls out his phone.

“Yes,” he says, apparently in response to the greeting. “We need to cancel the meeting, I’ll be a little late,” and then hangs up and looks me straight in the eyes again, gently straightens the curl...