“... - Who wanted to go to Bulgaria? – Borka asks. “His friend.” From Marseille. – Why to Bulgaria? – What difference does it make to you? Don't ask empty questions, we don't have much time! - Basil says rudely. “I don’t want to come back at night.” I still need to refuel, mind you. I want to say: “I shouldn’t have taken so long to have lunch, you damn glutton,” but I remain silent, realizing that it is useless. We are his prisoners. Once upon a time, Basil and I lived in the same hostel, his name was then Vaska, Potapych, or just Khorok, and he was thin, I was thin too, although we drank a lot of beer in the basement on Neglinnaya. Now this basement is gone. Basil has been here in France for six years now. ..."