Privet, Shankhay!

Proshlaya lyubov' mozhet prinesti neozhidannye syurprizy. Kazhetsya, chto vse ponyatno, vse yasno, no... Zhizn' menyaetsya, inogda po sobstvennoy gluposti, kotoruyu my gromko nazyvaem poryvom strasti. Strast' prokhodit, a ee posledstviya ostayutsya, prinosya obidy i razocharovaniya. Net by gotovit'sya k skoroy radosti - ottsovstvu. Uvy, strast' i zlye lyudi vmeshalis'. V sukhom ostatke: rebenok rozhdaetsya bez tebya i ottsom ego stanovish'sya ne ty, a tot, drugoy, kogo predpochla mat'. Vrode ne plokho - zhenit'sya ne nado, s teshchey povezet tomu, drugomu, ne zrya zhe on okhranyaet pokoy dobroporyadochnykh grazhdan. A ot ego nesostoyavsheysya teshchi lyudey nado berech'! Togda pochemu na dushe tak pusto?