FASHION STYLE FOOD ALPHABET

I'll tell you a story that I can't quite tell whether it's a product of my own sick mind or actually describes processes in the world around me. It all started about a year ago. I woke up in the middle of the night with the urge to go to the bathroom. Getting out of bed, I walked to the door in complete darkness, opened it, stepped into the hallway, and, looking ahead at the wall of the empty back bedroom illuminated by a street lamp, tried to figure out what was wrong with it. The cause was quickly found: in the middle of a thick rectangle of light, broken into pieces by branches and the window frame, there was a dark, oblong spot that clearly couldn't be the shadow of anything in the bedroom (which I haven't entered since almost the death of my mother, who lived there). It also couldn't be an object hanging from a tree, as it wasn't swaying in the wind with the branches. Taking another step and looking ahead, I saw the round spot shift at a speed proporti...

 - is you you're like a lover of any damn? Do you want to throw a factory? With such words, my colleague Artem, a melanoda uncle with techish education and a very limited fantasy began its history. This is me to the fact that the story described by him there is no chance of being fictional. I am a big connoisseur of mystical stories, a kind of collector. I did not hide my addictions from anyone. For me, it was an ordinary thing to start a new acquaintance with the questioned, and did not bring my companion to deal with something inexplicable and otherworldly. People laughed, of course, but the stories shared willingly. Almost everyone was that to tell: who has a friend of psychics, who sees the dreams to whom that unfamiliar numbers are called and silent into the tube or publish strange sounds. Artem was a rare exception in my hobby. I didn't even try to ask him on this topic. It seemed that any Slenderman would have passed by him by him and did not notice - this is so tightly ...

 This story happened to me two years ago. I decided to separate from my parents and he finally, his life. Found a good job and, with his first salary, removed the apartment in a residential area. It was great happiness! My apartment is my territory where you can do anything. I was very lucky with housing: fresh repair, good furniture, Internet, even dishes - and that was in stock to the last fork. But the most pleasant thing is, of course, the price. She was incredibly low. When we met with the hostess, I washed to ask why she dresses such a treasure for a penny. But I did not do this in order not to sigh of my happiness. In general, the hostess was a very cute woman. She sentenced everything: - If you still need something, you just say, I will do everything. I think I ask, then I am the piano in the middle of the room, she would have brought him. In short, not life, but a fairy tale. Once in the evening, I dressed at the computer was late. I felt the legs, I decided to warm up and...

This happened to me quite recently, literally less than a day ago. My mother and her coworkers went on vacation to the Black Sea, so I was left alone for a few days. After ten hours at the computer, I suddenly felt like snacking. I didn't feel like messing around with scrambled eggs, potatoes, and grains, so I decided to just eat a can of preserves. We have a cabinet like that on our balcony—my grandmother used to store her pickles in it, but now it's just full of canned food. So, I rummaged around and found a couple of cans of pineapple in champagne, a bottle of tomato sauce, some pâté, and saury. The pâté goes best spread on bread, so I decided to go with the saury. The can was just ordinary, and there was no rust on it. I even checked the packaging date to avoid food poisoning—it was packaged last year.  I set the jar on the table, took a corkscrew, and poked a hole in the lid along the edge, and that's when the fun began. As I was opening it, I got some juice leaking ou...

At the end of my fourth year, I was kicked out of the dorm for a drunken argument with the dorm superintendent. While desperately searching for affordable housing, I came across a good option: a communal apartment near the university. Without thinking twice, I spent my last money on a modest room with nothing but a bed. I had no choice; I was glad I wasn't left homeless. My three neighbors in the communal apartment—two men and a woman—turned out to be elderly people living alone. They had lived in that apartment for quite some time and were close friends, so they seemed like family. Yegor Stepanych, a former accordionist at the village cultural center, was their ringleader. Occasional dinners with invited guests—people the same age as my neighbors—often ended with dancing to accordion music. I readily agreed to dine with them, but after I'd eaten my fill, I'd pretend to do my homework and retreat to my room, because I couldn't bear to watch these kitchen festivities wi...

When my daughter was born, we lived with my parents, the five of us crammed into a small one-room apartment. It was cramped, but we were given a room with our infant. The baby barely slept at night, screaming constantly, and I rocked her until morning. That's when I started noticing bites on the fruit or cookies we left next to the bed overnight. Someone had clearly been drinking from a glass; there were milk stains or a few drops that had fallen on a napkin. I thought it was my husband, but how he managed to eat at night without disturbing me and my daughter is unknown. This went on for a month, and then my parents were given a two-room apartment, and we all started preparing to move in. When I was finishing up the last few small things, I put my father's old hat on the floor and said, "Well, our little darling, if you're coming with us, then climb into this hat. We're taking you with us!" And I carried the hat away with the rest of my things. A week passed,...

I was working as a district police officer at the time, and during one of my rounds, I visited a "troubled" apartment under surveillance. A woman in her forties, a heavy drinker, lived there with a young daughter. She regularly brought men home, locking the daughter in the bathroom. The neighbors often complained about the noise, so I visited the apartment frequently. When I rang the doorbell, there was no answer for a long time. Finally, the door opened just the length of the chain, and the woman's swollen face appeared in the doorway. In response to my request to open the door, she mumbled something unintelligible, but unfastened the chain. When I entered the hallway, I immediately noticed a strange odor. I was still a rookie at the time and had little idea what corpses smelled like, but the sweetish odor aroused my suspicions. I tried to engage the apartment owner, but she mumbled incoherently and kept trying to sit on the floor. I thought she was drunk, but I didn...

Three days ago, my parents left for a week. May turned out to be hot. And on the very first night, the idea occurred to me—to sleep not in my bed, but on my balcony. True, my balcony doesn't have a sofa or a folding bed, only a chair. The balcony is littered with all sorts of junk—old boxes, tools, and rags—making it impossible to stretch out on the mattress or the floor. That didn't stop me. I decided the chair was enough for me, that I'd sleep in it.  I pulled out an ottoman onto the loggia to rest my feet on, along with a terry sheet and a small pillow. I made myself a nest in the armchair, grabbed a flashlight, some water, and my cell phone so I could tell the time. Just in case, I made the bed in my room (in case I couldn't sleep on the loggia), turned off everything in the room, and locked myself in the loggia. I sat down in the armchair, curled up in this little nest, and fell asleep. I slept absolutely wonderfully. I didn't think I'd sleep so well, sitti...

It was an ordinary evening, distinguished from others only by the new drink on my table, and that was all. The sun had long since disappeared behind the huge high-rise buildings in the distance, and the sky had turned orange, almost red. It was a simply magnificent sight. I kept watching the sunset, listening to some second-rate music and replying to my friends on social media. I was in a great mood, and even, dare I say it, romantic. It was strange for a prude like me, but it still happened, albeit occasionally. Ah, I must have had too much to drink... And the sun continued to set, painting the sky an ever-brighter crimson, adding even more beauty to the small town and its new buildings. From the kitchen came the disgruntled meow of my ginger cat. The cat came up to me, rubbed against my legs, and meowed again, as if apologizing for yesterday's mess and the broken vase. I poured some food into his bowl, and he began to eat—no, devour—it, purring contentedly. Satisfied with the wo...

 Although, I will note the amazing maneru of her speech and unique intonations, which if not create an ominous halo, but the atmosphere is exceeded. There is no reason to believe in the described case personally I do not have. The events took place relatively recently, in the mid-90s., In one of the former Soviet republics. I am always confused in the degrees of kinship, so imagine the main heroine, Valery or Lero, like a story of the storytellers. You know, we all, regardless of the warehouse of character and worldviews, keep with you "happy" things. Attributes that are trusted, as reliable overamanesses for good luck or from the bad effects of outsiders. You can call them in your own way if they carry individuality imprint. And some symbols and protective artifacts are so tightly included in our lives and are so popular, which merged with common traditions and lost primary importance and importance. However, having met Lero now, it can be surprised that she carries a Bible ...