In the evening I gathered up the washing.
In Igor's jacket there was the usual: two bolts, a torn-off scrap of a ticket, and a ten-rouble coin, darkened on one side. I laid it all out on the windowsill so he would find it in the morning, and put the jacket in the machine.
I check the pockets every time, and not because of the bolts. I check whether anything has turned up in them that he never bought.
That evening nothing had.
Open in the reader