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"With penguin steps he moved forward. He waddled almost. His cap pulled down over face, so deep that the lashes the woolen cold protection in any eyelashes touched as they tried to clap in a relay race. His longing gaze was fixed on the road, on the strange life of the bulb faces, passive participant, he was bound and for far too long in the cinema seat, appeared to him every year a little uncomfortable, which by pressing springs drilled into his body and his reminiscent of his role.
Can I help you? "I asked him one morning. His eyes had the consistency of canned ravioli. He did not say a word, turned away and walked on. "
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