We love, oh how we love to turn our souls to the very bottom in a relaxed atmosphere, to throw out the bitter aftertaste in order to try to forget. Or, on the contrary, firmly remember and relive it, if you are filled to the brim with the jubilant joy of being, when you have something to tell and why, but there is no one in particular. We confess and repent most frankly if the narrator and the listener are almost strangers, when a confession that turns the zigzags of fate inside out cannot be conveyed to friends and relatives, and the soul or conscience suffers and hurts. At first I listened carefully to the simple-minded revelations, and later I began to write. I have a lot of stories.