As it has appeared, the flower shop differed nothing from shops manufactured goods, food, grain - the same armour doors put by
bags with sand of a show-window with several embrasures in which it was possible to make out someone's shining eyes, and the
same inscriptions on a sacking with the institution and assortment name. In this case the shop was called "Ritual services". First
it is Maxim has not confused - that such birthdays, love of women to colours and to gold as not ancient, absorbed in blood of
people ritual, but, having come inside, he has thought that has come to be in bureau of funeral. About walls stacks coffins of all
forms and the sizes, ljubovno made of the red polished tree, roughly hammered together of not pared down oak boards,
crookedly welded of zinc sheets and even stuck together of plastic bottles, only along the edges for a fortress intercepted by
iron rims rose; Heaps had been fell down marble preparations for gravestones, about a counter there were ready samples with a
photo etched in a stone, and with gold inscriptions of years of a life and surnames deceased. However, all photos were the
same person, surnames and years of births coincided, position dates in a coffin differed only.
- Than I can help you in so mournful day for you? - The silent, pathetic and so sympathising voice was distributed that
Maxim not to disappoint this person, was ready to lay down itself in a tomb. The voice belonged to the high swarty person with a
black slick hair, sharp wrinkles on cheeks and in a smart tuxedo with pododetoj under it a warm fluffy knitted vest. The person to
its Maxim already was the acquaintance - it flaunted on exhibition plates.
- To me flowers, - the mournful voice beseeming a place, the moment and the neighbourhood of coffins, Maxim has told