On the way to the dirt road, which led into suburban fields, Abnormal Things, not wanting it at all, scared several passers-by a lot. The first of these was a pensioner living in the block 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 0:3, and, deeply upset by such a devastating result, he decided to relieve the stress with the help of wine leftovers from the bottle which was standing in the fridge. In fact, he had long wanted to quit drinking, especially since poor health, a meager pension, and persistent advertising of a healthy lifestyle that appeared on all TV channels demanded this.

The polished doctors, fitness trainers, nutrition experts unanimously insisted that drinking is harmful, you shouldn`t drink, it`s not allowed, especially for elderly people who usually have in old age too many diseases to add to them cirrhosis and hangover syndrome. Alas, the stupid game of idols from the team "Heat Insulator", who turned to be powerless before the unpretentious combinations of their longtime rivals from the "Pipeline", turned out to be stronger than all the arguments of reason and television campaigning, so the elderly football fan still decided to brighten the bitterness of defeat with another glass of wine.

Going out onto a dark street, he slowly walked toward the stall shining with windows. Behind it, a Bath with a Washing Machine on the sides rode along a badly broken concrete road, followed by Fridge crawling with a slight buzz, on the top of which, with steady swaying of its booms, Sideboard kept his balance, and after them a huge Chandelier rolled, pressing with a hose from the shower to its side some kind of box. Numb with horror, the old man silently watched this strange procession, hiding a little by little behind the garages, and stood still for a long time, afraid to move. Then, turning with a slight swaying in place, like a soldier tired of a drill on the parade ground, he, slowly rearranging his feet, which suddenly had ceased to bend, trudged towards his entrance of a residential building.

At home, he sat on the couch for two hours, afraid to move, and only the window leaf opened by a gust of wind returned him to reality. "Still, the doctors are right saying that it`s better not to drink. Probably the wine left in the bottle was made from chemical powders, which are often talked about on the TV, and in a couple of days, while standing in the fridge, they turned it into a stupefying liquid. Well to hell with football with its passions, now I`ll only watch the weather forecast," the shocked pensioner decided and took from the wall a large photo of the "Heat Insulator" team with all its coaching staff and club sponsors.

Another psychological victim of the appearance of Abnormal Things on the evening street was a passerby who lingered late at work. He decided to read some book on the Internet that he could not find in stores, and the office network was the most convenient option for this. He could, of course, go to the Internet salon, but there he even through the headphones would have to listen to the roaring exclamations of teenagers who fought either with terrorists or with special forces, constantly changing weapons and accusing each other of spying on rivals' screens, although at the same time they spied all up to one.

The only minus of reading at work was that this supernumerary use of connecting to the World Wide Web would be known to the top-brass, which always in an unknown way found out about everything: who drank how many cups of tea per day, who had an affair with whom, who too often took a break to breathe in fresh air and do a workout on the street. But, at the end of the day, not so much was paid in this company, so that one had to deny himself the pleasure of using the free Internet for educational purposes.

Still impressed by the next chapter of the novel about intelligence officers from the socialist camp, who worked under the guise of conscientious office workers in a Western company selling home appliances and furniture and simultaneously collecting information about this socialist camp and recruiting spies for the CIA there, the clerk walked slowly along the street dimly lit by the windows of houses, bypassing and jumping over potholes and bumps. Having landed after the next short jump, he raised his head briefly and Abnormal Things appeared to his gaze, which smoothly turned from a small alley onto the same road which the clerk was walking.

Frozen in amazement, he was not so much afraid as hesitated in doubt: to run away from there with a loud cry or, if it is suddenly the machinations of some enemies-spies-recruiters, try to hide as quietly as possible while those born in an unknown workshop with an unknown goal creations didn't pay attention to him and did not offer, for example, to establish surveillance for his boss, imperceptibly attaching a microphone to his desk.

Considering that the second option was fraught with fewer dangers, a passerby, clutching a bag hanging on his shoulder to his side, silently rushed off in the direction of the minibus stop, from where not long ago he started his walk home in a fine mood and anticipation of a hearty dinner. Alas, his self-control was only enough for about fifty meters, and then the district was announced by his frightened cry: "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" "These holidaymakers will not calm down in any way, and they will be walking drunk all night long all the summer," the saleswoman sitting in the kiosk muttered and decided, just in case, to finish the shift half an hour earlier.