I didn’t look through the peephole, convinced that my neighbor had forgotten something. And on the threshold, instead of a pensioner’s one and a half rubles, I was greeted by a two-meter long wardrobe. Out of surprise, I abruptly slammed the door on autopilot. “Roxana Vitalievna, what kind of kindergarten, open it,” a bass voice echoed through the entrance. What is he up to? How does he know my address? Was he really rummaging around in his personal file, well, it certainly couldn’t be otherwise. So the phone number is listed there if anything! “The lockers in the kindergarten are small, but here the whole middle group can fit,” she muttered under her breath the first thing that came to mind, and then added loudly: “Why did you come?”