I have to stop and look at both of them. The guys are maybe a year or two older than me. One of them is wearing long sweatpants and a dirty blue t-shirt. Thin, wiry, half a head longer than me, he looks at me with contempt, Curling his thin lips with an extinct cigarette in a mocking half-smile. The other was stocky, slightly shorter than me, also wearing sweatpants with thin red stripes and a light shirt with a wide open collar. He lifts his shoulders and holds his hands slightly apart, like, the uneventful bitsuha makes it difficult to press them.
They are silent, apparently waiting for the frightened bleating of the victim. The situation is not trivial, our area is completely calm. During my "first childhood" I do not remember such situations. Well, they were very unlucky today. I have
