<h2><font color=red>My neighbour</font> </h2>(Anatoliy Konovalov)

I remember one old guy. I was walking from my University. I felt tired and was dreaming about how lovely just touching my pillow on my lively bed would be and not so far from me and my home i saw a dirty old person. He was lying on the ground and had heavy breathing. I didn't recognize him and almost passed him when a familiar voice for me, called me. I turned around and recognized one guy who in the past was nice and kind. He was one of the people who sacrificed himself to clean out places from radiation after nuclear disaster in Soviet Union times. People who had been there haven't lived long. I remember him. He always gave me presents, toys or some sweet stuff, for the hell of it, when I was child. And now he looked horrible. He was lying and his face was scratched, tired and burned out by the scorching heat and heavy life. I came upon him and felt the smell of alcohol. He was a little bit drunk. He twisted his ankle or maybe had even broken it and the world around was oblivious to him, birds were singing their lovely songs, the din of the street muffled his groaning, everybody was busy with their own business and he was a useless spot on his homeland. I helped him and got a taxi and sent him to a hospital. I felt sad and before I took a nap I thought about his lonely life in this world. And I remembered one expression

"Make good and good will come back to you"

but this was not his case.