brain damage - one boy.

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 (c) Daniil Shepovalov

 One boy...

One boy was very good. He always obeyed mom and dad,
I did my homework on time and was never naughty.  And when he grew up,
the police found twenty CDs in his bag with
child pornography and a kilogram of cocaine.

One boy was not given girls for a long time. That's why he wrote
very beautiful, romantic poems. And then some girl told him
Finally she gave. Then the boy drank himself to death and became an astronomer. But this is already
after serving five years for cocaine.

One boy really liked to listen to music loudly at night. And he lived
he is in a panel house, where sound insulation is far from advanced
edge of engineering. One day a boy came out to take out the trash - and
a neighbor grabs him by the sleeve.  And he says: “This is yours, young man.”
man, is there music playing at night? - Well, yes, I have! And what: interferes?
Too loud?  - Oh, what are you talking about! I just got something for myself
I wanted to rewrite...

One boy loved to burn matches.  He used to ask
buy him some boxes of some hooligan he knows, and then
walks down the street and throws lit matches in all directions. Funny!
How much happiness is there?it is necessary: then women don’t like him at all
interested.

One boy wanted to listen to cheerful house music all his life, swim in
pool with azure water, drinking a martini and hugging
slender, tanned girls in bikinis. That's how it happened with him...

One boy was a skinhead.  The other is a punk. And the third one
I didn't really give a damn who he was.

One boy hated people. And he hated animals too. But
I really loved gasoline.

One boy once ran into tough bandits. Chief bandit
shot the boy in the chest with a pistol. The bullet pierced the lung,
the boy wheezed, a trickle of blood flowed from his mouth, he fell on
the ground and huddled in his death throes.

One boy really wanted to become a hacker. But he didn't.

One boy really liked to send everyone away.  It used to come out with
In the morning, on the balcony, she screams: “Fuck you all!” And one more thing
will spit down for clarity.  Three times.  He had one like this
interesting tradition.

One boy constantly read books. Either he reads one in a night, then
the other - everything is not enough for him. And one evening I suddenly grabbed all my
the library in a bag, dragged it out into the street, doused it with gasoline and lit
huge fire. Immediately joyful children ran out of their houses and
They began to dance around him. "Heil!" shouting, rejoicing...

One boy really liked to put on tights in front of the mirror,
bra and apply bright scarlet lipstick. The adults said
whatit won't do him any good. And the boy grew up and entered
Palestine Liberation Organization.

One boy constantly flew in the astral plane.  Flew to Paris
Rio de Janeiro, to Delhi.  Sometimes it can fly so far that
then for a few days he looks for his way back. And he also has the same dream
I was dreaming about it all the time.  About the TV that shows
TV that shows TV that shows
TV. And then the boy stopped eating hallucinogenic mushrooms and
went to study to become a turner.

One boy once decided to kill his parents and eat them
hearts. I even got a knife with a special groove for blood drainage.
True, I changed my mind later.

One boy was studying at school and went on summer holidays
to relax with my grandmother in the village.  First of September teacher
asked the whole class to write an essay on the topic “How I spent
summer."  Svetka wrote about her vacation in Sochi. Grisha wrote as
went kayaking. But the boy didn’t write anything. Because yet
died of dysentery in June.