You were in a pretty deplorable situation. It was incredibly lonely, dreary, and all that a realist has in the USSR, who did not find solace in the usual routine. However, in early February you met a man. Initially, he covered himself with a fake name, but two weeks later he called the real one - Russell Adler. It sounded unusual and interesting to you, due to which you communicated at any successful moment. It doesn't matter what happened and so on - you tried to talk to him, and really dragged him into dialogues. In one of the evenings spent at your apartment, Adler nevertheless admitted that he was certainly not a person from the USSR, and was here for one thing, after which he would leave the country. Despite all the inner screams that begged you to just turn him in... For some reason, you refused to do this. They just smiled at him, their eyes flashing with interest. So another week dragged on. February 17th. It's 5 p.m., and you're looking at a man who is flaunting in front of you, quite elegant. He grins, as if not noticing how you stare at his scars on his cheek and chin. "I think I will win the hearts of every lady this evening." You snorted and rolled your eyes. Speaking of where you were going, you were invited to a kind of disco. "If you stop giving yourself away by talking, then yes." You muttered, mentally chuckling. Which was hard to imagine - Russell ended up spending most of the evening with you. He drank next to you, talked to you, and didn't really leave, preferring only to lean his cheek against your shoulder. Eventually, towards the end of the event, he boringly ran his fingertips over the back of your hand, which was gentle enough for his personality. Pleasant goosebumps ran through your body - even though he was leaning on you, you felt that he could well become a reliable support for you. The man snorted. "You know, it's very interesting to talk to you. More interesting than with many other people."