We have everything at home

A small quiet town. Bonaparte Street, house number 8, building a, second floor, apartment to the left of the elevator. It was here that the eighty-two-year-old Ferdinan Brun moved here recently after the divorce: the unconvraced Misanthropus and a gloomy skeptic, a person, according to neighbors, with a muddy past, deserved the nickname of a killer maniac. He causes special hatred among local old women who are accustomed to grinding bones to all residents and from morning to night gossiping in the yard. The confrontation with the residents is the stage of the Cold War and the risk of pouring into a hot conflict, but then an eleven -year -old girl appears on his threshold, who, like a tornado, bursts into his life and turns up everything upside down there. And this is the best that happened to him over the long-long years.