...I imagine my guardian angel in the image of a camp guard - bald, with dull, worn-out eyes, in thick cotton pants that smell of tobacco and disinfection of station toilets.

My guardian angel guards me without much zeal. . According to the position, according to the instructions...

I must admit, this escort hari doesn’t have much trouble with me. But when I try to escape from the zone called “life,” my guardian angel grabs me by the collar and drags me through the stage of life, twisting my arms and kicking me. And this is the best he can do...

Dina Rubina