It all started about one and a half hundred years ago. That is, the siege has begun. I am under siege by writers from all sides. Because it was in 1886, on November 23, that my great-grandfather, Alexander Stepanovich Yakovlev, who became a writer, was born. Later, my mother repeated the tradition and also managed to be born on November 23, but did not become a writer. And everything would have been fine, but my dad’s brother...Mikhail...Yuryevich...was born on June 6, on the birthday of one very famous famous Alexander (although the one who is my godfather, too...) But even this could be survived! No! Obviously, since my dad is Mikhail Yuryevich, and there is such a writer’s confusion around, I had no choice but to huddle in the middle of October and on the 15th (we say hello to Lermontov) to be born. Jokes aside, the truth is true, but now my first love in the 10th grade has already locked up and then Ostap suffered... This Ostap, of course, is not Lermontov or Pushkin, but it seems that he is not Kukushkin either. So give Ostap a chance. He really wants to be noticed.