Klavino happiness. Ershova E.

It was a strange life. It flowed in two dimensions. Nikolai Konstantinovich and his family were in one. Life here went to an end, there was no more exciting and interesting in it. In this dull monotony, like a witch on a broomstick, youth burst with her elastic, arrogant beauty. Vika turned his life like a stained ash in the stove, and spread a hot fire on which all his well -being flashed, like a miserable bunch of straw. She grabbed him and carried him along another dimension where there is never peace, where everything is spinning and vibrates in a cheerful, crazy rhythm. And it seems that there can be no return to the past. In each story of the Era Ershova, which included in this book, an event takes place that breaks life into parts. But is it only a matter in the event? Or in the ability to live? Or maybe in the logic of her current?