Habro suicide. Rural disco

    - Hans, great! - heard from behind.

    The schoolboy turned around stealthily, quickly hiding something in his bosom. The saleswoman in the stall, who had just issued a dose of the good old Nine, hastily closed the door.

    - What are you pinching there! Do not ssy, your own! Great! - A small crowd of tribesmen was approaching Hans.

    - Vovik! Kuzyar! Hummer! - the schoolboy was delighted with his unexpected rescue.

    The schoolchildren rushed to meet each other, began to happily embrace - but not like some stupid kiddies, but sensibly, like a kid using the algorithm of their own invention - they squeezed the crab with two hands and struck their shoulders.

    - What zataril? - smiled Vovik.

    - Well. - Hans answered cheekily, taking a beer out of his jacket. - How are you going to the disqing?

    - You are going to diskach? - frowned Kuzyar.

    - The stump is clear! - answered Hans. “I used to talk to my grandmother in the farm on the farm, there’s no one for you or even a stall!” And the grandmother is scorching, he couldn’t even catch up with him

    “Well, there it is ...” Kuziara hesitated. - Everything has changed now.

    - What? - Hans cackled. - What could change there? Pumpkin no one to break, or what? Or are the girls all married povyskakivali, no one to stir up?

    - Not. - Kuzyar dismissed. - There, in short, this is ... The club now.

    - And before that was? - Hans laughed. - Bolshoi Theater or what?

    - Why are you taking him on a bluff! - Hummer entered. - Hans not know what? One hell go.

    - And you do not go, or what? - stopped Hans.

    “Well, I don’t know ...” Kuzyara looked somewhere off to the side.

    - Yes, let's go! - supported the guys Vovik. - Let's rake up melancholy, piling on someone! In the end, do not waste the same “nine” in vain!

    - And that's right! - supported Hans. - Well, all rushed!

    - SchA, wait. - Kuzyara reached into his pocket. - Also stock up.

    When all the preparations were completed, the friends moved to the club. The path lay through a small square - a favorite place for rural youth on a dark night. There and you can drink drinks, and cuddle with the girls, and the toilet - wherever you want. Twenty minutes later we came to the club.

    “Those are on ...” Hans drawled.

    The village club looked, as usual - a large white-brick building, shabby, with knocked down corners, sometimes painted with chalk and coal (tea, not a city with its graffiti), but the facade ...

    On the facade — where there used to be nothing - it was hanging now large neon sign with the inscription "Start".

    - What? - puzzled asked Hans.

    - Well, the club. - Kuz'ar spread his hands. “Now that's it.” Cars out, see?

    Hans turned around and saw two dozen cars - the most different, but mostly - foreign cars.

    - This is whose? - asked Hans.

    - Urban. - responded Vovik. - Have

    come here ... - How have you come? - More and more surprised Hans. - What for?

    - So the club is. - pointed at the sign Vovik. - Do not clap your flippers, but it's normal, as everything should be. The bar is there now, new mafons have been installed, amps, repairs are done quickly, Mouzon is set to another.

    - Nothing not understand. - Hans shook his head. - And the main one? George kicked what?

    - No, this is what he muddied. - answered Kuz'yar. - Now he is not the leader of amateur performance, but the director of the club. Even I saw an advertisement in the city, so the people rush here. Every day more and more. Last time, even someone on a Lexus rolled up, I had never seen anything like this - which is a hybrid.

    - Yes, shit on Lexus. - Hans began to lose his temper, who was quickly caught up by the Nine. - What to do?

    - In terms of? - frowned Kuzyar. - You are not psyche, come on ...

    - What other psyche? - Hans poured.

    “Your mother ...” Kuziara pissed off. - At me, do not be bykuy, went inside, look, it's normal there.

    - And go! - shouted Hans. - What am I, some kind of shooter, hanging around on the street?

    - Mutt. - corrected Kuzyar.

    - You yourself mongrel! - Hans grinned. - Come on, stop trying!

    The guys approached the entrance, yanked the door and got into the waiting room. There were two ambals - from local, village, only in suits and with badges.

    - We get tickets, gentlemen. - smiled one ambal.

    - What? - outraged Hans. - For your sickening also pay?

    - Shut up, Hans. - pushed a friend under the ribs Vovik. - Chiribas of everything.

    - What the fuck Chiribas? - continued to shout Hans. - Yes, I ...

    What Hans was going to do there, no one found out, because Vovik paid for everyone, and a noisy company went inside.

    From what he saw, Hans was at first startled. Previously, the disco fit in the foyer of the rural club, but now the whole building was given to the needs of holidaymakers. The cinema hall did not happen - although there was nothing to complain about, there wasn’t anything shown there anyway, and now there was a dance floor in the huge hall. There were tables along the walls, half of which were empty, and the rest were sitting, mostly visitors — Gansu’s faces were not familiar.

    Judging by the signs, there was a relax-zone on the second floor. What it is, Hans did not know, and he was not particularly interesting. There was a bar in the lobby, and there were tables too. The music here was not so audible, it was possible to talk without straining.

    The wardrobe was in the same place - immediately to the right of the entrance, only nobody had been on duty in it before, and now the woman Klava, who had worked as a cleaner at the club since time immemorial, was sitting.

    - Oh, what polta something ... - looking at the hangers in the wardrobe, Hans smiled. - No, urban, and, Baba Klava?

    - Come on, and take off your repair. - smiled in response to the old woman. - What are you standing rooted to the spot.
    Hans undressed, handed over his jacket, got a number tag. Turning it in my hand with interest, I put it in my pocket.

    - Well, walk, ragged! He shouted to friends. - Send city bread to clean!

    - Wait you! - shouted Kuz'yar, but Hans has already passed to the dance floor.

    Entering, Hans stopped and began to look at the public. The first thing that caught my eye was that there were no familiar circles, which this and other rural discos have always been famous for. Of course, the famous handbags, mounted inside the circles, was not there either.

    People danced in small groups of two or three people. Everything looked grandly, decently, no one jumped and yelled "Sunny in the hands!" Or "Stooooo dneeeee to the order!" - just bored jerking to the beat, and not to the beat of the music.

    Looking at the crowd, Hans looked around. Seeing a small handful of familiar faces, he moved there.

    - Beaver, great! - shouted Hans. - Oh, and Cheburator is here! And Boryan! Why stand still, do not dance?

    - Hi, Hans. - Beaver raised his hand in greeting.

    The company was older, not of school age. Cheburator was generally a mature, hefty fellow - a tractor driver famous throughout the region, who in Soviet times had received a bunch of letters and cups for socialist competitions - and plowed and boron and sowed faster and better than anyone. But he didn’t lose his old village habits - he loved disco. It used to dance like that, it happened that the dust was a pillar.

    Beaver only lived in the village, and worked in the city as an electrician. I studied in sharaga (as vocational schools are called in the village, now colleges), and, like, Hans heard, he was going to enter the institute.

    Boryan was an agronomist at all. Not very famous, but he knew his business. I visited the discos often, but I almost never danced - I liked someone more to turn the turnips off.

    - Vali, shkolota. - replied gloomily to Hans Cheburator. - Not to you right now.

    - Oh, well. - confused Hans. - As you wish, I thought muddied cho.

    - Without you muddied. - snapped Cheburator.

    Hans shrugged and moved on along the wall. I stumbled upon an old acquaintance - Gena, the storekeeper from the building management.

    - Gena, hello! - happily said Hans. - What are you, as usual?

    - Woman, I do not dance. - Gena calmly replied with a phrase from a famous song.

    - Yes, I know. - Hans waved his hand. - You never dance. Come, will anyone break up a melon?

    - Without me. - quietly answered Gena.

    - And this is without you. - smiled Hans. - All without you. You stand always aside, as if not in the business. You do not dance, you do not thump, you do not rummage in the frames, you do not pinch the girls. I have long wanted to ask, what for in general you go to a disk?

    - Not your business. - Without losing composure, said Gene. - Come on, get down in the woods.

    - What are you all going wrong ... - frowned schoolboy. - Listen, Gena, and cho with a muzle?

    - What's wrong with the music? - reluctantly answered Gena.

    - Yes, shit! Cho at fuck at all? Not a word to you, not a rhythm, all kind of tyrdyn-tyrdyn-tyrdyn ...

    - Normal modern music. - shrugged Gena. - Have you been to decent clubs?

    - Well, let's say no. - carefully answered Hans.

    - Well, then do not poke the snout, where they do not ask. - Gene was calm. - Now all the clubs have such music. Rave, trance, hip-hop and so on.

    - What? - frowned Hans. - This is the so-called ensembles, or what?

    - Ensembles ... - Gene smiled. - Another add - vocal and instrumental. Go already.

    At this moment, quite unexpectedly, one of the dancers stumbled, could not stand on his feet and fell on Hans.

    - Oh, I'm wildly sorry! - shouted, rising, guy.

    He extended his hand to Hans, but he shook it off. He got up himself, for a few seconds he looked at the offender - nothing special, just some kind of city dude. The complex is no more than Hans, although self-confidence in this situation shone in the face.

    - Oh, you sssuka ... - Hans hissed, swung sharply and slammed the dude into the tablet.

    Well, as he stuck it ... It was Hans who thought he did it. The dude, with a knack of dexterity, retorted the blow with his left hand - Hans’s hand went up. And from the bottom, in the finest way, an uppercut arrived.

    Hans jumped a little — not by surprise, but by the force of the blow — and fell to the ground. The dude leaned over and added a couple of punches to the pumpkin, still holding Hans’s right hand.

    Gena, who stood nearby, without losing composure, only took a couple of steps to the side. The recent company, Cheburator, Beaver and Boryan, hastened to the rescue. They didn’t beat the dude, they just dragged me away - although it didn’t seem to be required, he had already stopped and stood quietly over the defeated Hans.

    Shkolota arrived, and along with it, the ambals that stood at the entrance. Friends raised Hans, examined - blood was seeping from the nose and a broken lip, the jacket was dirty, but the mood was fighting.

    - I'll tear you up, sssuka! Shouted Hans.

    - Look, fur is not torn. - smiled in response dude.

    - So, small ones. - strictly appealed to the company Ambal. - Get down on the street, freshen up.

    No one argued - and the shkolota, and the older company moved into the street. Even Gena, for some reason, poper.

    - Yes, what is it, and ... - Hans did not let up, even being in the September coolness. - Well, I'll arrange them right now ...

    - Quiet you. - a strict bass said Cheburator. - Calm and do not go.

    - Yes, as so! Why? What the hell is there at all? There will be all sorts of urban teach me! Yes, I have them ...

    - Damn, you got already. - responded Cheburator. - You will buzz, generally no longer allowed. And we will be kicked out at the same time. Take it easy. Go home at all.

    - Right now! I will wait for this reptile here, and I will paint his turnip so that he cannot walk!

    - really! - supported friend Vovik. - Crowd lean on and finish off this horseradish!

    - See that you are not finished. - smiled Beaver. - As children, the right word ...

    - No, well, but what, tepili be something? - outraged Hans. - To stand on the wall, to watch how they are courting our girls, and to wind snot on a fist?

    - Who makes you stand against the wall? - entered Gena. - Came - rest normally. Eat, drink, if sold, dance. Without a massacre or something?

    - Yes, you ssyklo just, Gena. - Hans poured.

    - I am right now for you ... - Gena moved towards the offender, but Cheburator stopped him.

    - Good, guys. Hans, go get some air.

    Shkolota went away from the club, the rest returned inside. A little posharashivshis along the facade, going around the corner to smoke, the company was about parked cars.

    “What do you think ...” said Hans thoughtfully. “What kind of car of that dude?”

    The guys began to look around, but deduction was not their forte, and they could not choose a car.

    - Figs knows him. - Hammer shrugged, then pointed to the old Volga, GAZ-21. - That kind of, like, Cheburatora.

    - We will not touch it. - smiled Hans.

    After that, unexpectedly for everyone, Hans made a familiar familiarity to the whole village sounding like blowing his nose, but as if inward, and smacked a foreign car at a nearby car.

    - So to him, ssuke. - happily said Hans. - Right now, all the mark.

    Friends happily took part in a flash mob. Soon, the marks were on almost all cars, except for Cheburator Volga.

    - Well, you morons. - came from the side.

    Friends turned around and saw Gena. Everyone remembered that he had gone to the club, but apparently had time to return.

    - In the face you can not give, so at least spit on the car? Kindergarten, damn ... It's a shame for you.

    - And for us - for you, very much! - shouted Hans.

    - Oh well. - Gene smiled. - Right now, step step, and you, as the wind blown away. Morons and there.

    - Cho, you think, we can only hark? - smiled Hans.

    After that, again, unexpectedly for everyone, he raised his leg and hit the foreign car with force. The feeling of self-preservation, apparently, made itself felt - not on the hood banged. An alarm siren rang out, a foreign car flashed in dimensions, Hans backed away in surprise - neither MTZ-80, DT-150, nor K-701 were burdened with such twists in the village.

    The door of the club swung open, and several people ran out of it one by one. At first, no faces were visible, but after a few seconds everything cleared up - and who is running, and whose car, respectively, is yelling with a good mat.

    The first to run was George, the new director of the club. A middle-aged already, but a seemingly strong man, with glasses and with a haircut unusual for the village. Following, albeit in heels, but not far behind, Irina, the ever-present assistant of George, minced. Well, the recent company, from Cheburatora, Beaver and Boryan.

    - What are you doing here? - George shouted and began to inspect his car.

    - This is what you are doing here! - choked Hans.

    - I? - After inspecting the car, George paid all the attention to Hans. - Are you talking about, dirty little? At first I gave a fight, now you cripple a car? What the hell do you want? You do not want to rest in the club - go home!

    - I forgot to ask you! - snapped Hans. - When I want, then I'll dump! I'll have to come back.

    - Well, come in, have a rest, enjoy, what do you care for? - the director was indignant.

    - And the fact that nichrome I do not like your club, George! What the hell are you doing, eh? Normal diskach was why all this is necessary?

    - What was a normal diski? - genuinely surprised George. - You mean that gaddy that was here a month ago?

    - Well, gadyushnik and gadyushnik, but it was fun!

    - And now what, not fun? Or do you have fun only when everything is in shit, all booze as it is, smoke right in the club and drench each other?

    “No, well, not that ...” Hans hesitated. - I am for a cultural pastime, but still ...

    - What is it all the same?

    - I do not understand you, George. What for? What do you want to achieve? Haha us these, urban?

    - And you are not tired of living in oblivion? In our backwater, where there is no work, no study, no damn! You're still young, and look at the rest! Who did not drink, he left a long time. Like some Vikings, on a distant island. Fun - swell, knock, make faces at each other polish. And in the morning to wake up, and from gloom hopeless - again for a bottle. Do you want to live like this?

    - And what is your club help? - Vovik entered.

    - Yes, how do I know what! - George shouted. “But don't sit on your ass like you all!” We must at least do something that can. In my power, as it turned out, to make a decent club out of a rural disco. You see it yourself, and the people stretched to us, from the city. They buy everything - and the tickets, and in the bar normally leave, Irina will not lie.

    - Yes, well spent, not like in a stall. - Irina nodded.

    - And you, Irka, there too ... - Hans smiled.

    - I'm not Irka! - Irina shouted and, with unexpected dexterity, jumped to Hans and weighed him a heavy head - so powerful that Hans nodded and almost hit the hood of George's car.

    - Do not dare to offend Irina, obmudok. - shouted Cheburator. - You'll talk like this to your stupid school friends. Although, they will kill you.

    Hans was offendedly silent, rubbing the bruised nape.

    - Irina and I are trying for you, who would at least thank you when I said. - George waved his hand. “All you can do is whimper and whine, how great it was, and how bad it is now.” Not a damn thing you need, except to thump and urinate, in the literal and figurative sense. I do not like it - bring down to Mustovsky grain farm, there is just for you the atmosphere. They drink, yell, swear, in the toilet head dunk with pleasure.

    - Listen, George. - suddenly entered the Beaver. - Why is muzlo so strange?

    - Strange? - shouted Hans. - Yes, rotten muzlo at all!

    - Normal music. - George shrugged. - Now this is playing in all clubs. Unusually, I agree, but we'll see.

    - And who plays? What is ensemble? - Beaver asked.

    - And this is the same ... - Gene smiled. - Angry Beaver calls the DJ ensemble.

    - Whom? - frowned Beaver.

    - You are almost urban. - smiled George. - And these simple things you do not know. Plays our, local, DJ Intelligent.

    - Hto? - grinned Cheburator.

    - Well, Ivan, a tractor driver ... Former.

    - I know Ivana. - nodded Cheburator. - Only I did not see him at the club.

    - So he stands behind the console, it's dark there, so he did not see.

    - How long has he been engaged in this crap? Well, muzle.

    - Not really, like a year. I saw him in other clubs in the city. How is his ... Hubr? Khibr? I do not remember the name ...

    - So the music is garbage. - Boryan entered. - Put him in the neck.

    - And who will play? Are you? - smiled George.

    - Maybe I am. - Boryan replied gloomily. - Something complicated.

    - Yeah I do not mind. - George shrugged. - Play who you want. We have no strict rules. Only first Irina show that you have there - well, what music. She sits here all day, until late at night, she follows the club. Come, put the tape, she will listen. If normal - put your music in the evening.

    - Lada. - nodded Beaver. - I want to try. And that got this garbage already.

    - Has got - do it yourself. No one bothers. I will only be glad.

    - And I will not. - said Boryan. - Fuck this garbage deal, your music. I came to rest.

    - Well, have a rest. - a little nervously answered Gena. “What are you doing for George?” He's great, he tries, organizes everything here, and you only whine. Do not like it - go home.

    - Do you like it yourself? - Boryan frowned.

    - Do you what's the difference, like me or not? - answered Gena. - In general - yes, in details - no. Music - through time. Sometimes such turbidity, when trance especially. And when hip-hop is good, I love hip-hop.

    - Do not you want to try? - asked George.

    - No thanks. - Gene smiled. - I am a listener and a critic sometimes. Play is not mine.

    - Well, as you wish. - George smiled in response, then turned to the students. - Well, the conflict is settled?

    The students looked at each other, not daring to take responsibility for the general opinion.

    - Exhausted, exhausted. - unkindly smiled Hans. - You go, we still smoke here, and also tighten.

    The company retired, leaving our heroes among the cars.

    - Well, let's go? - hesitantly asked Kuz'ar. - It seems everything is normal, George explained. I have some coins on my pocket, take something there, sit, rest ...

    - Well, you're a cormorant. - Hans shook his head. “You were healed like a fraer, you slurped and opened.” They made a club here, they made commerce, they worry about us, they want to raise a village from their knees. I know! Soon there will be nothing left of the diskach, everything will be swept away by the city, and we will chew snot at the broken trough!

    “Uh, what are you talking about ...” said Vovik with doubt in his voice. - It is good to go in the water.

    - Well, go, I do not hold you. - answered Hans. - They were blown away like lohushki bespontovye.

    - Oh come on him. - Hummer waved his hand. - Come on guys.

    The company hesitantly, in small steps, began to move away from the cars in the direction of the club.

    - Hans is good. - Kuzyara lingered a little. - Come on.

    - Right now, right now, I will come. - smiled Hans. - I have one more idea how to spoil a holiday for them.

    - What the hell is it for you? What, how small? Again, you will hark? What is the point?

    - Well, you can, and no, but I do not agree.

    “Why did you put your tongue in your ass when George was here?”

    - Go, from sin.

    Kuzyar sighed heavily, but, knowing the hard, stubborn nature of Hans, he turned and followed the friends.

    “Little idea, little idea ...” repeated Hans, strolling along the rows of cars. - Well, I'm right now ...

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