“And the weather is not very good, Tol, it seems like it’s going to start raining?”

“It is going to, but it hasn’t started! And when it start, nobody knows! It’s normal weather! Don’t worry! Everything will be just at its best! Listen up!”

And Tol still grabbed him, hugging with one hand:

“I'll tell you such a thing now! About Lila! By the way, I invited her! We can arrange a really good time this night! Come, come to my place, I’ll tell you everything now! This is something!.. You just get fucked when you find out!”

“He was not even surprised that I was going after him,” thought Lis, doomed, “he considers me his friend. And judging by how all this is offered to me, he considers me his equal. Congratulations, Al!” Lis grinned bitterly.

He didn’t want to go to Tol and listen to some dubious vulgarities about Lila, he didn’t want to. But even more he didn’t want to go to him… Well, of the two evils, as you know, they usually choose the lesser.

Asa only grunted when she saw them on the threshold. Her next puppy, barked and rushed around. Lis realized that she, unlike Tol, noticed changes in his appearance. Noticed and appreciated.

“You look good!” She said, in “black” language, with a terrifying accent. In her performance, it sounded like: "You rook grood." Why do they always add these damn “g” and “shh”! Soft sounds don’t seem to exist at all for them. Vowels are also a problem.

Asa sat down by the mirror to preen. Well, at least she understands what kind of guest made them happy with his presence. Tol thundered with bottles, and at the same time with no less enthusiasm, as if he had just not told Lis, he began to share his stunning news with Asa:

“It will be an unbelievably tasty barbecue! You will swallow your tongue! I ordered to add to the pickle…”

“To the marinade, moron!”

“Can you imagine how fucking great it will turn out! Real jam!”

Lis sat in an armchair. Pictures of naked girls were hung on the walls in Tol’s room (on one of the pictures, the girls washed themselves in a bathhouse – and very naturalistically). Over the table hung a cheap

portrait of Jazmina, a singer popular in the “Lower”, bought at the fair. And above the fireplace, there were framed sheets with clever sayings:

“In the bowels of black, tri-color is born – black, white and red!” “Only black is true color, and the rest origin from it!”

Further, the logical conclusion followed that the “blacks” were the true progenitors of all mankind. Probably such “true blacks” as Arel. At first there were only them. And only then, from them, “whites” appeared, or rather, according to the logic of the writer, “whites” are the same “blacks”, only in a slightly different guise. They are “blacks” who have moved to the upper sublevel. And only then… only then the “reds" were born the very last.

They told him shit like that at a military school. Lis remembered that. They were raising the patriotic spirit of future warriors. “Blacks” are a chosen race,

“whites” are so-so, but “reds” is just a burp. Gods! What is he doing here?! Why is sitting here, barked by a fucking dog, and doesn’t leave? Lis knew why.

Tol set a tall crystal glass in front of him and poured wine. Lis really wanted to take him by the hair, because Tol’s tail, despite shaved temples, was two Lis’ arms and waist length, and to muzzle him on the tabletop.

Asa languidly approached the table to clink glasses with them too. Lis wanted to hit her no less.

They drank. Everything at once. Neither Tol nor Asa knew how to drink in sips, savoring the taste, and Lis didn’t want to. He was now not in time to enjoy the bouquet. He wanted to get drunk and fall asleep until the evening. Until these fucking lamb barbecues. He was sure that Nikto would be there all the time with Arel, and Lis would not have a chance. And this is good.