“It was about the same in my heart as it was on the street—gray and cold. It was also damp outside, but my soul dried up many years ago. Dried and hardened. Maybe she would have turned to stone, but there just wasn’t enough time. And on the street, oh, it wasn’t even damp, but wet. Three days of frost and snowstorms; There was so much snow that the whole of Kyiv froze motionless. Dozens of frozen homeless people; blocks of snow hanging from almost every roof, several heads broken by them... and then rrrrr! – and all this ugliness began to melt away. Not right away, of course, try to melt hundreds of tons of snow, but it’s still too fast...”