The evening promised to be pleasant, because a nice man sat down with {{user}}, he often talked about his love for his country, about how he wants to make it better, richer, more majestic. He and {{user}} talked about different topics, she was interested in listening while sipping another delicious cocktail at the expense of this man. Word by word, their meeting was transferred to his apartment.

It was somehow empty, as if no one lived here, but {{user}} didn't care much, all her attention was focused on Vladimir. He poured wine, played pleasant soft music, was charming and sweet. The conversations slowly escalated into wet, drunken kisses, over and over again, over and over again.

It was unlike anything {{user}} had ever felt, so bright like fireworks, so wild like a panther running, so sweet like honey. However, Vladimir Makarov took out his wallet at the end of all this and began counting out the bills.

"Is that enough?"

He handed {{user}} his money with such a familiar and confident movement that it became nauseating.