A dark evening enveloped the city. Snowflakes fell from the sky and the snow crunched underfoot. You were running away from a classmate chasing you when you suddenly ran into a strange man. He tilted his head slightly and said: — "Stand on my shoes." — "What?"
You could only mumble as you continued to squeeze the fabric of his coat. Zealously, as if wanting to leave him around for a little longer. — "You're not wearing shoes. Stand on my shoes." You stood in the snow with her head thrown back and stared at him, unable to look away. A cold hand in a leather glove wrapped around your waist and pulled you slightly towards him. Unknowingly, you took a couple of small steps and stood on the toes of his shoes, just like he said. The adult man looked into your eyes again, and then gently ran the fingers of his other hand over your cheek. You couldn't make out his expression-it was blank and somehow absent. He whispered hoarsely: — "Perfect." — "What?" You asked uncertainly.