The first of them was a pensioner living in the area, who went to a kiosk late in the evening to buy a bottle of alcohol there. Before that, he watched a football match in which his favorite team lost with a score of 0:3, and, deeply upset by such a crushing result, decided to relieve stress with the remains of wine from a bottle standing in the refrigerator. In fact, he had long wanted to quit drinking, especially since this was required by poor health, a meager pension, and persistent advertising of a healthy lifestyle that appeared on all TV channels.
Glossy female doctors, fitness trainers, and nutritionists all unanimously insisted that drinking was harmful, that you shouldn't drink, that you can't drink, especially for the elderly, who usually have too many illnesses by old age to add cirrhosis of the liver and a hangover. Alas, the stupid play of the idols from the Teploizolyator team, who were powerless against the simple combinations of their long-time rivals from Truboprovod, turned out to be stronger than all the arguments of reason and television propaganda, so the elderly football fan nevertheless decided to brighten up the bitterness of defeat with another glass of wine.
Going out onto the dark street, he slowly headed towards the kiosk with its shining windows. Behind him, along the badly broken concrete road, a Bathtub with a Washing Machine on its sides was driving, followed by a Refrigerator, humming softly, with a Sideboard balancing on top of it, rhythmically swinging its arrows, and behind them rolled a huge Chandelier, holding some kind of box to its side with a shower hose. Stunned with horror, the old man silently watched this strange procession, which gradually disappeared behind the garages, and stood there for a long time, afraid to move. Then, turning around with a slight swaying in place, like a soldier tired of being drilled on the parade ground, he slowly moved his legs, which suddenly stopped bending, and trudged toward his entrance.
At home, he sat on the couch for two hours, afraid to move, and only a window opened by a gust of wind brought him back to reality. "After all, the doctors are right when they say that it is better not to drink. Probably, the wine left in the bottle was made from chemical powders, which they often talk about on TV, and in a couple of days, while it was standing in the refrigerator, they turned it into an intoxicating liquid. To hell with football with its passions, now I will only watch the weather forecast," the shocked pensioner decided and took down a large photo of the Teploizolyator team with its entire coaching staff and sponsors from the wall.
Another psychological victim of the appearance of abnormal things on the evening street was a passerby who stayed late at work. He decided to read some book on the Internet, which he could not find in stores, and the office network turned out to be the most convenient option for this. Of course, you could go to an Internet salon, but even through headphones you would have to listen to the loud cries of teenagers who were fighting either terrorists or special forces, constantly changing weapons and accusing each other of spying on their opponents' screens, although they were all spying.
The only downside to reading at work was that this unscheduled use of the connection to the World Wide Web would become known to the management, who somehow always found out about everything: who drank how many cups of tea during the day, who was having an affair with whom, who took too many breaks to get some fresh air and stretch their legs outside. But, in the end, they didn't pay that much at this company that you had to deny yourself the pleasure of using the free Internet for educational purposes.
Still under the impression of the next chapter of the novel about intelligence agents from the socialist camp, who worked under the guise of conscientious office workers in a Western company that sold household appliances and furniture and simultaneously collected information about this very socialist camp and recruited spies for the CIA there, the clerk slowly walked along the street dimly lit by the windows of houses, going around and jumping over potholes and uneven surfaces. Having landed after another short jump, he briefly raised his head and his gaze was presented with abnormal things that smoothly turned from a small alley onto the same road along which the clerk was walking.
Frozen in amazement, he was not so much afraid as he wavered in doubt: should he run away from there with a loud cry or, if this was suddenly the machinations of some enemy spies-recruiters, try to hide as quietly as possible, until those created in an unknown workshop with an unknown purpose of creation did not pay attention to him and did not offer, for example, to establish surveillance of the boss, discreetly attaching a microphone to his desk.
Considering that the second option was less dangerous, the passerby, pressing the bag hanging on his shoulder to his side, silently rushed to run away in the direction of the minibus stop, from where not so long ago he began his walk home in a great mood and anticipation of a hearty dinner. Alas, his composure lasted only about fifty meters, and then his frightened cry resounded throughout the area: "A-a ... However, even if she had encountered them "face to face", she would hardly have been very scared, since she was seriously into videos about pranks using people made up to look like actors from horror films. "What interesting costumes," she would have thought, "I should tell about them tomorrow on my social network page and on the video pranksters' forum."