“A week,” Timur grins, “and I won’t just put her down, but she will follow me around the entire academy and look with puppy dog eyes.” “I doubt it,” Dron continues, “let’s give it a month.” How many? - Buck mower? - Timur shrugs. For him, such a sum is trivial, as for me. - It's swept away! “I’m with you,” I can’t stay away. “Then the rates are raised,” says Timur, “two mowers in a month, if none of us puts the baby in bed, then we double it and another month.” We play fair. “Honestly,” I grin and shake Dron’s hand, “you have a problem with honesty.” - Then a game without rules? — I see passion flaring up in Timur’s eyes.