It was found in a laundry basket in the laundry room. The baby was only a few hours old, but death was already waiting for him around the corner. The baby was christened Moses and called a broken child. When I heard this phrase, I imagined that at birth a huge crack had appeared in his fragile body. I understood that this was just a metaphor, but the picture would not leave my head. Perhaps it was the image of the broken young man that attracted my attention. Mom said that the whole city was following the story of little Moses, but no one could help him. A few years later, he himself burst into my life like a wave and became a breath of fresh water - cold, deep, unpredictable and dangerous, like a blue abyss. As usual, I plunged into it headlong, despite all the prohibitions. Only this time I went to the bottom.