Imprint of Heart. Illumination with love. Elena Speranskaya

Alex was running out into the street, already wearing old trousers and a shirt, where his friends were waiting for him: Sergey who was as blond as he and the red-haired Vovka. They were in even older trousers and shirts, and the three were starting to chase dogs down the street in search of new entertainment.

      At home, Alexey, as usual, had supper alone, cleaned the dishes, carefully wiped off the table and went to bed. November morning was extremely foggy and cold. He did not have desire to prepare for a long time because had everything ready beforehand. The suit and shirt were ironed, the boots were cleaned. He scented with cologne, presented with a bride, put on a cloak and went out.

      It was getting dank. He hurried on. At eight he went to the factory entrance, where the people crowded. The head of the personnel department presented new passes of the delegation from China. Alexey noticed Lucy. Apparently, she came earlier and stood, waiting for him.

      She looked unusually nice in a beautiful, light coat, a fur cap and short, leather boots with heels from Prada. She had a laptop in her hand. Alexey called out. She turned around, went up to him and smiled.

      “How are you feeling on?” she asked mechanically.

      “Fine,” he answered a little hoarsely and asked: “And you?”

      “And I have the best of all. Dad remembered you and said hello. He invited without fail to visit us.”

      “I will. We agreed to meet you today at six. I did not forget.”

      The factory column of employees, hurrying to production, resembled a raging, with different tones, river. Someone was standing and waiting for their friends. There women’s singing voices were hearing. The mood was upbeat.

      Torobov came up to them. He had long been peering Lucy, and she obviously liked him. The three of them went through the turntable and went into their workshop.

      After work, Lucya met Alexey in his workshop, she was worried a little.

      “Are you very tired?” he asked when they were about to go to a stop.

      “Yes, I am. I would like to sit somewhere to rest,” she sighed heavily.

      “Let’s go to my place. I live not far from here, ten minutes walk.”

      “With pleasure. I do not mind.”

      “Well, we need to buy something. Would you like some beer?” he joked.

      They went to the nearest market and bought an ordinary set of food for dinner, starting with sausages and potatoes and ending with butter.

      Alexey lived in a nine-story house on the sixth floor, in a one-room apartment. The room was small but cozy. Furnishings: a sofa, a desk, two chairs, two bookshelves, an armchair.

      A reproduction of Picasso painting “Dove” hung on the wall, a carpet of light brown color palette lay on the floor. The whole room was decorated in brown tones – curtains on the windows and upholstery of the furniture. Alexey had a lot of books. They lay everywhere: on the desk, on the floor, on the windowsill. It was noticeable that reading in his life played a major role, mainly folios of technical content: for steel, metals, machine tools and automation. Fiction: adventures, detectives and military memoirs.

      “Lucy, do you want some tea?” Alexey asked when she went into the room.

      “Of course I want. I’m cold, I need to warm up a little, and something is getting colder in the street. Probably this year, early snow will fall.”

      “Do you know that, I have soup and fried potatoes with sausage, let’s have a good lunch? Let’s go to the kitchen,” he suggested enthusiastically.

      She followed him to an unusually clean and cozy kitchen. It smelled delicious. The furniture was white with various appliances, a powerful refrigerator, and an air cleaner from Fiore and a dishwasher.

      “Alexey, I’ll help you,” she said, cooking the stove, masterfully, putting the kettle on the burner, a pan of soup and a frying pan with potatoes. He had placed plates, cut some bread.

      “I like cooking,” she said in a flash. “When our group was sent for cleaning work, I was a cook. I cooked for the whole brigade with my girlfriend. The guys were pleased, even the flowers were presented to us. She gave to read, a copy of her poems ‘Illumination with Love’ and then gifted it.”

      After the meal they did not want to go anywhere, Alexey turned on the TV. They gave a concert with the participation of popular artists. Lucy sat in a chair, relaxed for a moment, turned off the sound, a reality show began, which could be watched without sound. Alex was cleaning in the kitchen. He returned with a bottle of red wine and poured a bit into crystal stemware standing on the table in the middle. They touched the edges of the wine glasses.

      “What are we drinking for?” he said and ran his hand over her knee when he sat down on a chair next to him. “I suggest for love…”

      They drank and made love, as before, with enthusiasm and passion that resembled their first date. She leaned against his shoulder, but he silently touched her lips to her chest and whispered:

      “I’ll go and take a shower, sit here and dream about our happiness.”

      He did not have time to return, as she loudly said to be heard:

      “I’ll read this insight. I always carry it with me,” she took something from her bag. “They say that happy people do not watch at hours.”

      “I completely accepted with you. Read it,” he turned off the strong pressure of water.

      Word about Rock Music

      The guitars rattled disparately.

      The drummer is knocking on the whole hall.

      My mind was numb.

      The chords make the final.

      And silence… As if someone

      Wanted to say and was along.

      But again, a whistle, a squeal, and a roar,

      Barely a refrain just played a goal.

      A simple matter has become complicated,

      It sounds as in law enumerated.

      From fear, the heart stops tears without:

      What will happen if everything plays out?

      The lights, the flowers, and the noise of the song…

      The midnight rumbling music spread out in unison.

      And the muse died of surprise.

      She was killed by a guitar flurry eyes.

      So sad and anxious it was. After all,

      For something we exist in the world.

      Yes, in our life everything is possible,

      We see it day by day without exhaustible.

      It’s time to get used, so what,

      You can not be fooled around.

      “Alas,” we can only sum up.

      “The eighth miracle is not a flaunt.”

      “Bravo,” he clapped when he came back and sat on the sofa, covering himself with a blanket.

      “Listen,” she said, hiding herself in a silk sheet, and sat on the edge of the sofa, as an ancient Roman priestess of the goddess Vesta – vestal – in toga during a sacrifice:

      Age of Computers

      Rock paintings of a distant creator

      Infuse energy without initiator.

      The ancients were smarter. What a shame!

      Predicting