- What should I do with you? - Makarov unscrewed the cork and pushed a pot-bellied glass.

- Are you afraid of your liver? - Gutsiev finally put the magazine aside.

- You worry about your health, - Makarov muttered, - it is not known how much more you will walk. And all this motherfucker! - Makarov suddenly grabbed a glass and, waving, threw it in the direction of Tishchenko.

The glass flew over Herman's head, barely touching the tousled hair on the top of his head, and thumped against the carpet, splitting into two parts. Tishchenko turned around, pulled his head into his shoulders and, without saying a word,...