Asks a friend, how he was doing, and he often throws you a sour «normal», which upon further questioning, the story goes ordeal and gloomy adventure. So look around at all that\’s available view, and come to the conclusion: there is no happiness in life. One wing squeezed by car, the other fought unsuccessfully yesterday, the third makes repairs in the apartment, and this it is better not to ask. The fourth right away, the fifth doctor that — said something unpleasant. Sixth do not take up probably already that Of course, there are those who only speak about how they have everything in life smoothly and safely, and what they\’re cool, that\’s, say, a phone call — and all of them will be settled. These worse them quite impossible. Where is it, this joy is hiding? Under which bush to look for her, in which a ravine or ditch? Where the card to give it? At what depth it is buried? And how do you know then that this joy is real, and not fake what ¬ ever. It seems like fun, but with a bitter, unpleasant ¬ which is exactly the hair in a cutlet or a corpse in the well, from which just had. From a purely financial point of view, joy and sadness — is electricity that flows to the brain and, like Pushkin\’s cat goes to the right — the song starts, the left — a tale says. Just right here, for example, the area of grief and anger. A left — the area of joy and pleasure. And electricity wander through these corridors, as Theseus through the labyrinth. Strange thing, but give him a ticket in the same place in the brain, in one of his workshops, where sits the head of the entire plant. The production here is simple: from a raw, that is the human experience, feelings and emotions boil. And it turns out that the shop gloom — foremost. A shop joy — parasites, as has rarely meet people who celebrate life. But it is from the material point of view. At the household level, the picture is this: go to the city, the area of the First Rivers, yards. Pavement. Homeless man sitting on the curb — a dusty beard, jacket which — that the earthy and with the same color face. I went — he holds out his hands to me: one bottle of vodka in the other — processed cheese «Russian», has already bitten. — The perfect combination! — Exclaims the little man, and continues to devour the second, squeezed first. And I realized that in this world for a moment there was quite a happy person who discovered the amazing eateries, beer tandem. And in his shop, jubilantly scored hammers gnashed napilnichki, and under the deafening roar of the machine was to be born into the world pristine pure joy. How little a person need to be happy. And we have, as usual, icky, slushy and perpetual maintenance. We do not know how to rejoice. No, do not know how.
Sergei Petrachkov, the newspaper «Vladivostok»