“Morning is like morning. Injections, IVs, dressings, suture treatment. I’m almost finished.” “Ignat Zakharovich, please turn on your side,” I asked the white, like a harrier, but extremely nimble grandfather, who was lying on a bed near the window He readily obeyed, lifting up his shirt and exposing his skinny butt. After wiping the injection site with a cotton swab and alcohol and slapping it, I stuck the needle in. He didn’t even squeak. Hero. I injected the medicine and pulled out the syringe, squeezing the wound. “That’s it.” Hold the cotton wool. Grandfather Ignat turned over on his back, not even thinking about covering himself with his shirt. He’s a fucking exhibitionist. “Olechka, feel me.” I think I have a fever. And everything inside just stands on end,” Grandfather Ignat shared with me. – What do you think, Olechka, is this serious?