Part II, foundry. Danilyuk Yu.

In cloudy weather, Neva water takes the color of the reflected clouds, earthy and steel. And how a fine day will be far out-both the sky is blue around, and Neva is blue-blue. If you are walking with a fine day, you will surely admire this divine blue. Here is generally a writer's corner. Maybe even the whole city is writing. Its central, historical part, at least. The best representatives of Russian literature were either born, or lived and worked in St. Petersburg. Pushkin, Zhukovsky, Baratynsky, Dostoevsky, Kuprin, Bunin, Akhmatova, Mandelstam, Brodsky, many, many others. House behind the house. Defilled on the foundry. Now they would say, wandering aimlessly, staggering idly, well, or walking, walking. And in the time of the empire they defiled. Now there is no empire, now they are idly wing, they are no longer defiling. Including therefore I do not take anyone in my walks. I am always alone, and with me only Petersburg with its inhabitants, especially those who have long gone into another world.

"Part II, foundry." Mokhovaya. Boorish. Khamovniki. A long -gone era. Fridged photos. Forgotten names. Spended fate. The fund, goalkeeper, suction, scorch, potter, bondar. The right and did not immediately realize what kind of crafts I am talking about. Rus' is leaving. Even, perhaps, already left. Forever. How to death.

I am grateful to fate for living in this city, in its historical center. I did not become happy in St. Petersburg, but without this city it would be unhappy. Being not happy and be unhappy - it's not the same thing, these are different degrees of depression.