Observant point young "paparazzi" equipped on a pointed roof of a two-story building of Sergey. It was a very dangerous roof, with a rather impressive angle, so in slippery shoes, especially in rainy weather, there was nothing to do. Work shoes "hunters before the strawberry" - Soviet-made shoes, in which you could still feel more-less confident on this extreme slate roof. We spent long hours in our lair in anticipation of suitable subjects-nude. If the long wait was rewarded with such a "cheerful" story, at least with bare chest, it was for a whole week a subject of noisy discussion in the yard, and "lucky" - the voyeur, although for a short time, became the object of undisguised boyish envy. Our society of young erotomaniacs has now been replenished by Sergei Novikov and Misha Petrov, with whom we have already gone to the roof as a work, that is, with enviable constancy. Soon, and our roof was not enough for us. We began to master the sloping roof of my five-story building. It came to curiosities bordering on a deadly risk.
One summer evenings, Misha Petrov, armed with my telescope, spied a suitable plot with nudity - a mature attractive person on the fourth floor of a nearby building was preparing for the next beach season, "rolling" a collection of Soviet unpretentious swimsuits in front of the mirror. If she was all right with the chest, then everything that was below the belt, to Misha's great disappointment, was hidden by the outer wall of the house at the level of the window sill. Having taken a great interest in this "fantastic" spectacle, Mishan slid forward in a plastunistic way, and without calculation, with his telescope began slowly, but surely, to crawl from the peak of the cornice. "Hold me by the feet!" - only he managed to shout to us, and Morozov and I, that there are forces, grabbed his legs and dragged him. "What a wonderful evening today!" - enthusiastically said below, right below us, my mother, who went out on the balcony to breathe a full breast with the elastic July air and, fortunately, did not hear our noisy fuss on the roof. Mishan flushed like a cancer, and was sweating profusely, the sweat streamed down his face and neck - it was obvious that he had survived not the best seconds of his life. After this unpleasant incident, we no longer changed our own, become native, roof of the Novikov house, which also became a savior for me in the most direct sense of the word. And it was so.
One day, resting from pretty podnadoevshih erotic sessions, we Morozov, armed with telescopes, looked with curiosity at the full moon. A lanky guy with a sheepdog passed by - as I found out later, it was Vova Pashko from the parallel 9 - "in" class. I do not know why, I gave a loud meow, causing his dog's nervous barking. "Now like meow, goat, learn to bark!" - Grumbled with a quiet threat Pashko and went on. On that incident, and would have been exhausted, but the devil pulled Morozov to blurt out: "If I were you, I would have caught up and let into the face!" Without thinking twice, I did so. "Come on, stop, you fool!" - I caught up with Pashko. He stopped with a brazen smile, comfortably, turning his nasty, pimply face to me deliberately, and I seriously and very efficiently conducted a beautiful, put "hook" to his left in the jaw. He was taken aback, grabbed his cheek, and then panicked, along with the frightened sheepdog, shouting: "Well, all right, now we'll kill you, you bastard!" It was not long before I heard the noise of the approaching crowd, which foreshadowed absolutely nothing good for me. Ahead were tall men, holding miner's lanterns. "I would have fled if I were you," Morozov said unperturbedly, sitting on the wooden table for dominoes. "Run with me," I said. "What for? I did not do anything. " "Well, as you know!" - I already threw on the run and rushed that there are forces to the entrance, where our beloved hatchway was located. Quicker than the monkey, I jumped on the stairs and quickly climbed to the attic.
Through the embrasure of the attic hatch, I could clearly see Vova Pashko running into the entrance, followed by me, holding a bicycle chain. He wanted to climb up the stairs to the attic in a fever, but when he saw my arm with a brick brought over him, he changed his mind and ran out of the entrance. "The boys, who climbs on the roof with me?" - I heard his trembling voice, and, without waiting for possible volunteers, climbed on the roof. The calculation in this case was simple - on the roof I felt myself like God or almost like God. Even if the guys suddenly climbed on the roof, I would successfully attack them with cobblestones that were abundant here, and in case of unfavorable developments, there was always a reserve path of retreat to the roof of the neighboring two-story building. And then, in the attic, there were so many hidden secluded corners to bury, that even with miner's flashlights, the enemy would need a very long time to find me. In this case, the time worked for me.
As was to be expected, there was no one wishing to climb to the roof, so I sat quietly on the roof, listening attentively to what was going on below, and when the noise died down there, cautiously descended the stairs and left the entrance. In front of me there was a depressing picture. Boria Morozov, with a battered face, stood in the middle of the yard children, among whom was Sergei Novikov (he left the house exactly to the end of this tragicomedy) and Misha Petrov. Strongly gesticulating with his hands, Borya heatedly told the guys how Voronin's pricker was
