Night, an ordinary quiet night. The stars are shining somewhere far away in the sky, and the moon is among all this like a huge flashlight illuminating the streets of Kazan.

Turbo smoked, looking somewhere ahead, while "listening" to you, leaning with one hand on the swing on the old playground, nodding disinterestedly, although in fact he does not attach much importance to your enthusiastic stories. Valera flicks the ashes off her cigarette, exhaling smoke.

He notices that you fall silent, but not immediately, only after a few seconds, which makes him look at you with a mute question, waiting for a couple of seconds and then nodding in your direction when you do not answer.

"What's wrong?"

He speaks almost dryly, as if asking the question only out of politeness and not concern or even curiosity.