From the author: Imagine, my 15-year-old client turned out to be such a talented young lady that I couldn’t resist and decided to publish this masterpiece. If you like it, show it to the children. It's time to give way to the young! About how coffee helps you find a seller You shouldn’t drink coffee in the evening. It just wasn't worth it. I knew that I wouldn’t fall asleep and I drank anyway... And what was I even thinking when I agreed to go to a cafe with my classmates? No, of course, I clearly remember how I wanted to hear who wanted to take what topic for the final exam. By the way, as it turned out, nothing interesting. At least from what I heard, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Good thing no one asked me! I would not like to shamefully admit that I am a slow sucker without imagination. I had some ideas, but nothing normal. And not a single idea reaches the required volume. At such moments, I begin to wonder: what prompted me to enter the art department? Okay, okay! I’ll take it, go out onto the balcony, and if the fresh air somehow magically makes me not want to sleep, I’ll sit down to draw. Still, it’s good that I came across an apartment with a balcony. It is very convenient to be outside without leaving home. Sometimes you can have a snack here. For this reason, I don’t put anything outside the balcony door. Although I have nothing to put there. Now, while I'm standing on the balcony and cursing my own indiscretion, the idea of ​​night landscapes came to my mind. But this means ultimately disrupting your sleep schedule. I have nothing against pandas, but I’m not going to get the same stylish spots around my eyes just yet. Eh-hh, fresh night air... - Maxim, isn’t it? - it sounded nearby. I was surprised. Who could possibly need me in the middle of the night? I turned to the neighboring balcony, but, in my opinion, only a pigeon could fit there. It turned out that we had to turn in the other direction. It seems there was no need to turn around so sharply. Someone else's face was so close that I recoiled. A girl was sitting on the balcony railing and waving her legs. I was stunned by such proximity: - Who are you anyway?! - I am a dream seller! And the name is Lucy.” She responded calmly. It’s not enough to say that I was surprised. I don’t know about others, but girls don’t often climb onto my balcony and say that they are selling dreams. Maybe this is some new feature of dream interpretation sites? Oh, it seems my mistrust has been detected. - You don’t believe it, right?! – the girl pouted. - Oh, well, sort of... - yes, I’m just a master of communication. Especially with girls. So, Maxim, pull yourself together, remember your Russian language lessons. - Sorry, but yes, I don’t believe it. This is honestly how you prove that you are... a dream seller. - I was able to pronounce it. Instead of answering, Lucy jumped off the balcony. I didn’t even have time to open my mouth when she was already hanging in the air opposite me with the same frowning look: “And now, do you believe it?” - Now I believe. “I said, dumbfounded. “Listen, if you’re a dream seller, then why didn’t you show up before when I used to have insomnia?” Somehow I quickly accepted her statement on faith. Anyway. This doesn't look dangerous to me. Unless she offers me a jump from the fifth floor for company. - You didn’t go out onto the balcony every time! Yes, I admit, there was such a jamb. - And by the way, don’t turn to me for horror stories, but to the seller of nightmares. - So there is a seller of nightmares? How many of you are there in total then? – I was a little taken aback by such facts. - A lot! – Lucy drawled, “I can’t even remember everyone.” Almost everything that can be felt from emotions or dreams can be purchased from our brethren. It’s a pity that there aren’t enough girls among us, otherwise there’s no one to talk to. Well, that's it, my personal opinion. “Wait,” I stopped the stream of words that was completely incoherent for me, “so it turns out that from you I can get any peaceful sleep I want, but on the condition that without violence and horror?” - Yeah, I realized it quickly. During this time, the rest would only believe in my existence! Well, I can’t say that I actually believe it. This whole conversation still seems to me like the delirium of the artist’s inflamed brain. But it came off as a compliment to megullibility. And yet it seems like this is some kind of big joke with me in the lead role. Maybe play along? “Shouldn’t there be a seller of nightmares here too, if there is one?” Lucy nodded. - Yes, but he prefers to watch for clients on the street. That's where he usually lies in wait. Do you see him? – Lucy pointed to the gateway of the house opposite. Indeed, someone was standing there. - Hey!!! Misha!!! “She called out to him loudly, and something came out of the gateway. I don’t know how or how to describe THIS, I don’t have words at all. There is either a mask or some kind of mug on the face. A long burgundy robe, long fingers with clawed nails sticking out of the sleeves. If such an image phosphorescently flashed at me from around the corner, I wouldn’t even think about going, I wouldn’t even go, I’d just get out of there in record time. But if it's a nightmare seller, maybe that's okay. I don’t know all these so-called sellers that well. - Why do we need nightmares at all? Does anyone really like it? – I decided to ask. - How can I say... there are all kinds of people, you never know what kind of extreme people there are. – Lucy shrugged. She herself probably does not approve of such preferences. - So? What's your dream? – She stared at me expectantly. - Well... - difficult choice. Fortunately, you won’t ask her for a dream about zombies and other evil spirits: “Wildebeest, hurry up, you’re not the only one who has to sleep at night!” - Let's just go to sleep and get some sleep. My imagination didn’t work beyond that. Lucy nodded, took off her backpack and began rummaging through it. Finally, she fished out a paper package, checked the label, and handed it to me. - Here. I'll stop by tomorrow to see how you're doing. – Notified and disappeared. To be honest, I would have decided that for me the establishment with yellow walls was crying, if not for the bundle in my hands. There is nothing left for me to do on the balcony; it would be best to lie down in bed and try out the contents of the package. That's what I did. Already sitting in bed, I began to unravel the bundles. Well, it’s tied up, as if there was gunpowder or something else explosive. The decisive moment has come, I tear off the piece of paper and see... sand. The most ordinary sand. Ha, I knew I was deceived. Such a strange feeling of satisfaction for someone who has been carefully misled. For the purity of the experiment, I smelled, touched this sand and made sure: in any park on the paths there is enough of this goodness. It’s just that it’s loose and painful. In general, sand is like sand and just as persistently gets into your nose and... - Achhi-i! - Oh, I shouldn’t have bothered to sniff. A handful of dust flew up, followed by everything else, and a second later I was enveloped in a brilliant cloud. I tried to shake myself off, but everything had already evaporated somewhere. For some reason I suddenly wanted to sleep. Lazy salesman I slept extremely well. Only the awakening was not very life-affirming. I was woken up by a phone call. Somehow I got to the phone and answered the call. - Hello... - I yawned into the phone. But the answer drove away absolutely all remnants of sleep: - Hello, Maxim. This is your curator, in case you didn’t find out when you were asleep. Oops, now happiness has arrived. - Oh, no, I found out! It's just that you called early. “I tried to get out.” - I didn’t know that afternoon tea was early for you. - So it’s the weekend... - I chuckled nervously into the phone. Indeed, it’s already four o’clock. - Anyway, okay. But I flatter myself with the hope that you sat until late at night on the painting. Ata-ta... The picture... is becoming more and more interesting. Apparently, I was figured out. - You painted the picture, didn’t you, Maxim? – the curator asked with pressure. I had no choice but to agree: - Yes! Certainly! How long have I been poring over it! – I hope it didn’t sound too false. - I'm glad for your enthusiasm. And I will be even more delighted if you bring it today. - Um... Sorry, but we need to add a couple more touches... that is, strokes, this is painting, right. I say one thing, but in my head I hear with might and main: “What to do?!! What?!!" - I'm sure a couple of hours will be enough for you. Then bring it to the office today at eight o'clock in the evening. Otherwise... - The curator hung up, leaving me to figure out the consequences myself. Butthere was no time to invent or fantasize. Throwing the phone on the table, I rushed to look for this damn job. To be honest, I no longer remembered where I put it, or how much time was left to draw. I relied a little on some element of luck. But I couldn’t even find this unfortunate piece of paper. He crawled under the table and under the bed, looked behind the closet - well, where else can you stuff a piece of paper? The unfinished painting turned up in a pile of blank paper. It's good that I didn't use it as a palette. Otherwise I would have ended things. Having unrolled the roll, I realized that I would have no luck with this. Then, I only painted a tiny piece with color. It seems that in a conversation with the curator I should have mentioned that, on the contrary, I only made a couple of strokes. I won't get much done in a couple of hours. Just the background. Anyway. Less thoughts, more action. In less than an hour, it became absolutely clear that I would die in agony, at the hands of my own curator. Because it is impossible to be on time. I no longer thought about dreams and salespeople. I chalked it up to fatigue and completely immersed myself in work. But not for long - very soon an exclamation was heard above my ear: - Well, how did you sleep?! I almost threw a brush in Lucy's face. She turned out to be more agile and quickly jumped back to a safe distance from my hands. - Oh! Sorry! – now I had to exclaim. Lucy jerked her head and said: “Nothing!” So how's the dream? I didn’t want to characterize the sensations yet, and I tried to send her away: “Sorry, let’s do it later, okay?” I have to turn this in - I pointed at the painting - in less than an hour and a half. - Yes? – Lucy thought. I didn’t even have time to dip the brush into the water before she started again: “I have an idea!” I'm a pretty good friend of the time seller. It can both speed up the passage of time and slow it down! I can bring him right now! Time seller? That's what I need! If only he really could do all sorts of things with time. - Oh, that would be great. - That's good! I’ll run after Valerka right now! – she shouted and immediately jumped out onto the balcony. So that's how she got into the room! Probably doors and stairs are not for her. Although it doesn’t matter, I’d rather draw. However, as soon as I finished clumsily covering up the empty space on the sheet, there was a knock on the door of my apartment. For once, someone came to me. I hope with good news. Putting down my brush and palette, I went to open it. But I didn’t really manage to open the door. The door almost immediately hit something. I stuck my head out onto the landing. There was no one there. At least no one was standing. It's a good thing I didn't walk out the door. There was a guy lying on the rug, almost under me. He curled up comfortably, snoring peacefully. While I was comprehending the situation, Lucy appeared on the stairs. Puffing, she climbed up to my floor and stopped near the dormouse on the rug. - I ran to close the door to the entrance. Phew-hoo! Well, it’s heavy. I had to drag him almost the whole way. – The dream seller explained, pointing at the guy. - And this means... - I stopped. The one who was lying on the mat didn’t look like... I don’t even know what to call it, other than a salesman. I just couldn't pull it off. - Yes, yes, time seller, Valery, and so on and so forth. – Lucy shrugged. - Why is he sleeping? - He loves to sleep. It will give any sloth a head start. You, you know, are very lucky. Yeah, if luck lies in an occupied rug, then yes, I'm lucky. Lucy looked at me suspiciously. - Why do you think there is never enough time? It's simple! This lazy guy doesn’t go anywhere, but sleeps in any free corner. You can’t just persuade him to make a deal. – Lucy lightly kicked the sleeping man. - Hey, get up!! There is a case! Valera just snored and waved it off. The dream seller hadn’t bothered him much yet, but seeing that it was useless, she turned in my direction: “What are you worth?” Come on help! You need time, not me. I waved my hands. - What can I do? Maybe pour some water on it? Well, yes, a brilliant solution. She liked it though. - It might work, - onShe said in all seriousness, “Where are your glasses?” And she slid past me into the apartment. For now I stayed looking at the Time Seller. It wasn't like he could stop time. I'd rather spend it. There was a crash somewhere behind. And immediately an exclamation: “Everything is fine!!!” Yes. So I believed it. But a second later Lucy stood with a glass filled to the top with water. I stepped aside. She nodded and poured everything out on Valera at once. Nothing happened. Apparently Valera is immune to such things. Lucy got angry. She waved her glass so wildly, as if she wanted to throw it at this sleepyhead. I had to take it away. - Is it really possible to wake him up? – I asked. The dream seller glared at me: - Actually, you can... - How? Time is running out... She looked at her “colleague” with concentration. - There is one way... maybe it will work. She leaned towards Valera's ear and screamed: - Leraaaaa!!! Oddly enough, it worked. “Lera” jumped up as if scalded. - Where is Lera? What Lera? – and began to look around. Not noticing any Lera, he wanted to lie back on the rug. But Lucy didn’t let him do this - she pulled the rug right out from under the time seller. We must give him credit, Valera did not fall to the floor. - What else? – he asked lazily. - I want to sleep... - There is work for you! Here, meet me. This is Maxim. – She pointed at me. The time seller stared at me, blinking frequently. - And how many hours do you need? – he began right off the bat. - I do not know for sure. - I hesitated. I could never accurately estimate time, especially time spent drawing. - I would like to finish painting the picture... - Show me how much time you have. – Valera shook his head. Lucy had already disappeared somewhere by this time. I led him into the room. The time seller hovered in concentration in front of the unfinished painting. He pondered something for about a minute. Then, finally, he said: “I can say offhand that you will need at least three hours.” I give you four free hours. The time seller pulled out a pocket watch from his bosom. Although I wouldn't call them pocket-sized. They were the size of an average alarm clock. Theoretically, you can hang them on the wall. Yawning, Valera picked up the winding button with his fingernail and moved the watch forward. I wanted to exclaim that I needed the opposite, but I didn’t have time - the clock was ticking. Only for some reason the second hand went in the opposite direction. I calmed down a little and, a little belatedly, asked about the fee. - The fee is normal. I will sleep all the hours that I have provided you with. And you don’t plug your ears with anything and don’t wake me up. - OK. - It’s a strange fee, but it doesn’t seem to be a big deal. The time seller nodded, plopped down on my bed and immediately fell asleep. I didn’t want to stand over my soul, so I sat down to draw. The work went very quickly, I probably never drew like that even in the office. Here it is: houses and walls help. I was already happy, but then some kind of uterine sound was heard. I flinched and almost knocked over a jar of water. It sounded again. I turned to Valera. It turned out that he snores. That's what that condition about the ears meant. Do I really have to listen to snoring until time runs out? This is terrible. Fortunately, Valera did not often announce his presence and for the most part simply whistled through his nose. Finally, I almost fell asleep myself. Only the thought of the deadline kept me from completely nodding off. When the time seller woke up, I was already putting away the paints and washing the brushes. The finished painting was drying peacefully nearby. Valera yawned wide open and stretched. With sleepy eyes he looked at me and asked: “Well, how?” Have you finished drawing? - Yeah, thanks for the time. – I kept silent about the fact that he snored. - Great! I then went. “He jumped up quite cheerfully. I walked him to the door, then began to wait for the work to dry. While I was waiting, I checked the clock on my phone. I had enough time to have a snack and take my time getting there. Actually, that's what I did. I got there even faster than the curator. I had to wait for her under the locked door. She was clearly surprised to see me even before the appointed time: - Maxim? You're early. I said silentlya picture rolled into a roll. There is no need to say anything else. The curator unfolded it and was surprised. And then she admitted: “Honestly, I didn’t believe that you would bring work.” In any case, you're great! She tried to ruffle my hair. Or pat him on the head, I don’t know for sure. She didn't reach it. Fortunately. I don't like any of that stuff. I quickly said goodbye and left. Although I managed to hear another reminder about the exhibition. At home I immediately fell asleep. Even though they woke me up late in the evening, I was exhausted. In principle, those “extra” hours made themselves felt. Besides, I was pretty nervous about work. Meetings in the transition Yesterday I was so worried about the painting that I wore out most of my paints. I'll have to go buy new ones. Unfortunately, there were no paints in the nearest store. Although maybe there were, I was embarrassed to ask, and I didn’t want to. I didn't mind driving to the far one. I took the metro. Usually I prefer to walk, but today I left my headphones at home, so I wanted to do something quicker. I don't like listening to the noise of cars. And so, I go down to the subway. Having nothing else to do, I looked at people. Everyone is so businesslike, and occasionally a cheerful group of teenagers will pass by on the next escalator. As soon as I reached the very bottom, a student immediately caught my eye. He called loudly to buy knowledge. In such a lisping voice. Typical nerd: pimples, braces, round glasses. I didn’t even think that so many stereotypes could fit into one person at the same time. A paper sign hangs around his neck with the inscription: “Selling knowledge.” Surely he writes and sells cheat sheets. And it seemed to me that we were living poorly on a scholarship. No one noticed this seller of knowledge, and everyone passed by. But this subject is clearly not discouraged. Or maybe this is some kind of actor? Otherwise, I cannot explain such a well-established image of a wise guy. Yes, most likely I guessed right. Probably, the teachers in the theater department came up with this practice. Why not? We have exhibitions, and they have “work in the fields.” By the way, it may very well be. While I was pretending to be a detective, I had already passed by a student. Looks like you shouldn't have looked at him so closely. - Poftoy! Is that you Makfym? – the lisping nerd followed me. I was glad to leave as quickly as possible, but then he said the “magic” phrase: “I was hearing about you from Loofa!” I had to stop. - And who are you? The dumbfounded botanist looked at me: “Well, are you a fego?” I signed up! – he pointed his finger at the sign on his neck. Indeed, how could I not pay attention to such a title. - And what is your name? - Anatoly! – he quickly extended his hand. - Maybe professional Tolik. “Maxim,” he said his own name to someone who already knows him. I also shook hands - what are you selling and in what form? - I sell knowledge, if more precisely it is possible to remember the desired topic very quickly. It just doesn’t last long. And I give you these marmalades. – Showed shapeless lumps – These are for algebra. Very tasty. - And how, is it popular? – Somehow I still can’t believe it. - When feffies or exams - very. They tear it right off with their hands. Profto feychaf is not a season. Give them inspiration. Don't you need some kftati? – Tolik stared at me hopefully. I didn’t want to upset him by saying that I could use some inspiration either way. - No, no, thanks, not required. Okay, I have to go, bye. - Bye! Say hi to Lufi! – the knowledge seller joyfully waved after me. And I hurried to board the train. Fortunately, I didn’t meet anyone suspicious before the store or in the store itself. Having quickly found everything I needed, I paid and went home. To avoid bumping into Tolik on the way back, I decided to circle around the metro a little and get off at the next station. We'll have to walk a little home, but oh well. Having safely reached the metro, I boarded the train without incident, rode the line with the seller and got off at the next station. A guy about my age, all in black, was walking along the passage. Hands in pockets, hood on head. It’s strange, he seemed to be moving towards the flow, but didn’t crash into anyone. I thought it was goth at firstsome, but if you remember, this subculture more clearly expresses a craving for a dark style. But then he touched a girl passing by with his shoulder. I decided that he wanted to meet her or already knew her. The girl recognized him, got scared and asked something. The guy answered her quietly, and she rushed as fast as she could in the opposite direction. And he looked at me. He looked for a second, then another. I just looked at him, so to speak, in response. Suddenly he walked towards me. Or is it just my sick fantasy playing out. But he was moving straight towards me. He calmly and leisurely allowed all the people crossing him to pass. I decided not to tempt fate with new acquaintances and jumped into the nearest carriage. I haven’t seen this man again, and I’m unlikely to be able to see him again, at least at this station today. As soon as I entered, the train started moving. When the carriage in which I was traveling caught up with my pursuer, I saw how the wind from the train tore off his hood. He looked into my eyes. It’s mine, I’m already sure of that. And then he disappeared, somewhere at the station, while the carriage with me was moving forward. For some reason, his eyes especially frightened me. The iris was so pale that it almost blended in with the white. Probably the lenses; such whitish eye color is unlikely to exist in nature. At least I haven't encountered this. Until today, of course. I was so lost in my thoughts that I got home and didn’t remember how. Or rather, I didn’t remember until later. I don’t know how I walked, where I walked, I was distracted from my thoughts only at the door to the apartment. In some kind of shock, I sat down to draw. I only came to my senses when I had already sketched a dark silhouette at a brightly lit station. In my opinion, the eyes were especially successful - the same grayish-whitish color. I think the colors will make a very atmospheric picture. If, of course, I decide to draw something like this. Bare feet quietly slapped the floor behind me. - Oh, did you draw Adrien? Very similar, well done! – Lucy crept up unnoticed. I turned around. Again, she came out on the other side. Turning my head towards Lucy I had to be careful. And rightly so, we almost bumped heads. She didn't pay attention to it. The dream seller looked at my sketch with all her might. So his name is Adrian. Hm, we need to remember, just in case. - Where did you see him? – Lucy looked into my eyes. I moved away. I am not a supporter of such close contact. - In the underground. Who is he? The dream seller was embarrassed. - I promised not to tell him. - You already said your name, so go ahead and inject yourself. – I continued to insist. In the end, Lucy gave in. At least persistence was useful in some way. - Well, okay, I'll tell you. But if anything happens, I didn’t tell you! It seems that she is already ready to demand a non-disclosure oath from me. - He is also a seller. He doesn’t have the kind of product that gets torn off with his hands, so he rarely appears in public. The downside is that you never know where he is. And he is one of those individuals whom it is better not to fall in with. So be careful, Maksimka, since he saw you. “She finished in a whisper, as if she was afraid that someone was overhearing us. I hesitated, in case he said something else interesting. But no, she was silent. - Oh, well... Thanks for the warning, then. – I awkwardly broke the silence. Lucy seemed to be deep in thought, but now she jerked her head, smiled and said: “Yeah, okay, I have to go, good luck!” – and it was like that. Why did you even come? Unclear. At least I've been warned about Adrian now. A salesman with delusions of grandeur and problems in the alley. A dessert festival was held in a shopping center nearby. I decided to treat myself to something sweet and visit there. There were tons of people there. Everyone was walking around, picking at something with teaspoons, licking it, laughing. To be honest, the desserts themselves were not visible - everything was blocked by people. Somehow I squeezed my way to the tables and grabbed some kind of candy on a stick. From the piece of paper attached to it, I recognized the name - cakepops. It turned out to be quite tasty. While I was finishing my food and looking closely, I was pushed towards a huge chair. Or rather, to a chair for a small giant. I already wanted to dive into the crowd again and get something else, likeSomeone called out to me: “Maximilian!” It looks like my name, but it sounds more noble. I looked around. Few people could call me such pretentious names, but I didn’t even see familiar faces around. It must have been my imagination. But no, again: - Maximilian! Maksim!!! I'm turning to you! -Where are you? – I decided to respond. - Yes, here I am, up here! They poked something in the back of my head. I turned around. It turned out that someone was sitting in the chair. This someone was eating tiramisu and using a scepter (that’s what they poked at me) to adjust the crown on his head. While I was looking at it, this strange fellow finished the dessert and handed the plate with a spoon to me: “Put this somewhere, please, I’m afraid to drop it.” Without arguing, I accepted the plate from the crowned lady and placed it on the nearest table. And the person nodded with satisfaction, took out a porcelain cup from somewhere and began to elegantly drink tea. I was about to ask something, for example, what kind of tea, but I didn’t have time. - So you mean Maximilian? Lucienne spoke well of you. I was a little freaked out. - Which Lucien? Debra from Dumas' novel? I don't know, sorry. “Don’t be a clown,” they threatened me with a scepter—I’m talking about the clerk of night dreams. I think I'm starting to understand. - Oh, are you talking about Lucy, or what? As I understood from my facial expressions, the person was not pleased with my tone. - Yes, about her. I am, so to speak, her older brother. Or a cousin. It doesn't matter, though. The main thing is an older relative. - I see, and you are a seller... Tsarist power, no? And why did I say “royal”? Tsars are not in fashion. But my interlocutor stood up proudly, as far as his chair would allow him, pulled out an ermine robe from under him, threw it over one shoulder and proudly declared: “No, but you were close.” I am in charge of greatness. I nodded. It was worth guessing even before the ermine scarf. - You can call me sir. - What’s your name, if it’s not a secret? - My name is Voldemar. Well, nevermind. Voldemar! And who came up with such a name for him? Grandma or mom? Although the name Voldemar also looked like Voldemort. But I decided not to upset the guy with the unpleasant resemblance. And he continued selflessly. - You know, one person, my namesake by the way, once invited me to tea, and with my help he won the elections. All thanks to my campaign... I began frantically going through presidents with the name Voldemar. I can’t remember anyone even remotely similar. - Oh, Maxik, hello! But now I recognize Lucy everywhere. Indeed, the dream seller jumped out of the crowd, covered in ice cream. I took a closer look: and she plopped here barefoot. - Oh, Vova, and you’re here! – she waved her hand to Voldemar, jumping joyfully. But... Wait, what? Vova? If this is a diminutive of Vladimir, then I understand everything. Vova tsked irritably and, glancing briefly at me, leaned over the chair down to Lucy. “My dear Lucienne,” he hissed, “I ask you, again and again, in front of clients, call me Voldemar, or at least Volodya!” But not Vova! It's too easy. - And Voldemar is too pretentious! – Lucy exclaimed dissatisfied. - And if you do, then don’t call me Lucien! It's actually a man's name! Meanwhile, Volodya reconsidered his interests and, jumping from his chair, took Lucy somewhere, nodding to me goodbye. Due to the fact that there were more and more people every second, I did not want to stay and crowd there. So, grabbing an ice cream cone, I walked home with brisk steps. Perhaps the ice cream lulled (or froze) my alertness. I completely forgot about the Terror from the Gateway. It’s sad, but I only remembered this in the gateway itself. Even sadder was the loss of the leftover dessert. When Misha stepped towards me, I stumbled in surprise and... added a vanilla-colored decoration to the clothes of the nightmare seller. My first thought was to shout out an apology and quickly run away, but no. I stayed there, muttering an apology and handing him a napkin. And Misha slowly but surely became enraged: “You... You... Do you even understand that you threw ice cream at a necromancer and a warlock, huh?!” “Sorry, I didn’t do it on purpose...” I babbled. Still, seeing such a fearsome creature up close is dangerous for your eyesight. Maybe it's not too late to run away? Yeah, I can already imagine thispicture: an art student is running down the street, and behind him is some dashingly painted figure. Did he mention something about warlocks? Imagination pictured how he, while running, fishes out a black necronomicon from his pocket and, stumbling, but without slowing down, tries to read some spell. What a spectacle it is. Personally, I almost burst out laughing. - I will curse you until the thirteenth generation! There will be no peace for your soul in the next world! And how did I manage to come up with something comic with such “accompaniment”? Probably all due to the fact that the image of the necromancer Misha did not combine with the image of the seller of nightmares. I tried to stabilize the situation a little: “Don’t fume like that, it will wash off easily... I’m sorry again, honestly, it happened by accident.” It's a pity, but I have no talent for diplomacy at all. Misha didn’t even think about calming down. Instead, he listed all sorts of painful deaths. I tried to sideways slip out of the gateway, but my attempts were quickly stopped. - You!!! – the warlock yelled and pointed a finger with a long and curled nail in my direction. Well yes, I am. But there’s no one else here anyway. - I curse you! Let misfortune now be your companion until you beg my forgiveness! – he raised his hands to the sky, no, to the ceiling of the gateway. Echoes came from all sides. I think I'm starting to understand why he's sitting here. - Well, or until you buy a nightmare from me. “He added a little more quietly and looked at me. - So, will you buy it, no? A couple of hours of pure horror or misery at every turn? Yes, and one more thing: payment in cash, without options and in any case. Wow! Prosaic, however. Somehow it doesn't inspire confidence. - No thanks. I don't like horror stories. Misha was upset. - If so! Then let my punishment overtake you! – the seller yelled again. Then he grabbed a small dark ball from his pocket and threw it at his feet with a squeal: “Fuck-tibidoh-tibidoh!!!” The ball immediately exploded into gray billowing smoke. In a second it spread throughout the entire gateway. The smoke was so acrid and smelly that I started coughing. While I was rubbing my eyes, Misha was already whistling somewhere. I can't say that this upset me. I didn’t believe in such curses, so I just went home. I'm just a little sorry for the missing ice cream. Successful salesman Today is not a day for me, but a collection of failures. Things didn't go well in the morning. I was going to go to the park - there are many interesting poses you can draw there in the morning. Yoga alone is worth it. But despite all the actions, which can only be ruined by a time limit, they left an unpleasant aftertaste. Although I was in no particular hurry, tea decided to decorate my jumper with a stain (it turned out very funny: red tea looked a lot like blood), and since few people want to portray a slob vampire outside of Halloween, I had to change clothes and wash the stain. Later, when I calmed down with the jumper and stayed in the T-shirt, and decided to drink the rest of the tea, it turned out that the tea had spilled on the chair. It’s clear what happened to my clean pants. A little later it became clear that these were the last clean trousers in the house. Somehow crawling into old jeans, I decided not to give up and still get to the park. I did this relatively easily - the jeans “only” did not allow my legs to bend at the knees. Oh yes, some cyclist decided to tickle my nerves and rode over my leg, which I did not pull back in time. It was lucky that the cyclist was not caught with a heavy bicycle. Finally, I reached the park. “God forbid it turns out that the pencil was left at home... You’ll have to write with blood... or tea,” I think, rummaging through my pockets. But no, the pencil is in the notebook. It's best to draw from afar so as not to go into details. I turned onto the path to the pond - there were stone steps to a platform near the water. Today there were a suspiciously large number of skateboarders, and clearly newbies. It was like a master class, but it was taught by a guy on roller skates. This one was the most active. He shouted at the slow ones, gave advice, and had fun. I fell to the side a couple of times, but never fell. Remembering the misfortunes of the morning, I deliberately carefully walked around all the people andI was watching to see if anyone was heading in my direction. This distracted me. On the first step my foot slipped to the side. As I looked at the approaching steps, all sorts of outcomes from the fall flashed through my head: from death to a slight concussion, fractures and bruises. Suddenly someone grabbed my collar and hand tightly. - I’m catching it! – someone shouted and pulled me to a safe distance from the steps. “Thank you, I helped you out…” I exhaled and looked at the savior. And I was a little stunned. A guy from a while ago caught me on roller skates. As soon as his videos didn’t drag me along? I need to start roller skating too, apparently physics has no power over roller skates. - Sure, not a problem! - he smiled in response, and added, more seriously, - Well, let’s be careful somehow, otherwise it’s easy to end up in the hospital. - I myself don’t know how this happened. Since last night everything has gone well! – the shock began to take its toll. “When that theatergoer from the gateway scared me with damage.” At this point I’ve already lowered my voice, otherwise it’s all nonsense. But the skater became interested and seemed a little surprised: - From the gateway, you say? And by chance his nails weren't long? Unpainted face? - Are you going to be one of these sellers too? – for some reason I blurted out exactly this, without thinking, what if it was also a victim. Or a horror movie connoisseur. The guy burst out laughing. - And you are as quick-witted as I can see! Yes, I'm a luck seller. “Stop, what?!” I blinked, and the seller laughed at the effect produced. - I was at random, honestly... - It happens! I am Konstantin, or simply Kostya. How many times lately have I shaken hands with the seller of some elusive things? - Maksim. Listen, can the guy from the back alley really do damage? – I decided to ask. - Misha? Yes, they say it can. He calls himself a necromancer. He clearly took it out on you. – He said it so simply, as if necromancers were roaming in stacks in every gateway. But the fact that I was cursed does not smile at me. - Is there any way to remove this? I don't want to fall or spill my tea. Kostya laughed and reassured me: “Of course, you can take it off.” To do this, you need to make a deal with me. About laughter and morals Make a deal? From such a cheerful person it didn’t sound as creepy as from a necromancer from the gateway. - OK. And what are your rates? Kostya winced. - One incident in life when you felt lucky. It was just an accident, without any of your influence. I thought about it. Still, it’s not customary to tell someone about yourself, especially to share memories. But in happy cases, in principle, there is nothing personal, so... - Hmm... I remember once in the winter, when I was still at school, I was walking down the street, and a huge piece of ice landed from the roof a couple of centimeters from me. Counts? Kostya looked at me thoughtfully, then extended his hand to the side and began to study his palm, as if reading information. - Yeah, yeah, yeah... an icicle from the roof about five years ago... landed to your left, right? I nodded. What communication channels do they have? Find out reliable information from past years at your fingertips! I wonder if it just happens this way or if there are special courses in palmistry? - I accepted the payment. Exchange - removal of damage and easy luck until the end of the day. Give me five. – Kostya smiled again and extended that “magic” palm to me. I slapped it. The general feeling and mood have somehow changed. Now I wasn’t particularly nervous about rolling on my legs and generally felt more optimistic, or something. - Thank you! - You're welcome, this is work after all. By the way, you draw, right? – Kostya asked. - Yes, why? - Just... listen, could you draw a picture of me? - Seeing the expression on my face, Kostya waved his hands. - No, no, I mean only facial features, if it’s not difficult for you, of course. - It’s not difficult for me! - I agreed. In general, I never liked being asked to draw someone, ever since I was in school. I get terribly bored with words like: “Well, draw me! It's not difficult for you! You are an artist!” But the luck seller looked so sad at that moment that I couldn’t refuse him. Besides, I owe him my salvation from the steps. WeWe sat down on the same steps, I took out a notepad and began to outline. Kostya was no longer smiling as much and looked more sad than cheerful. Suddenly he looked into the distance, past me, and said: “You know, many sellers have not seen their own faces and themselves in general for a long time.” I stopped. How so? I asked immediately. Kostya continued: “We are not reflected in mirrors.” We are seen only in certain life situations. Or according to the mood. And many of us are influenced by morals. Look there,” he pointed towards the benches on the nearest bank of the pond. – see that booze? Indeed, the benches were occupied by a fairly tipsy group of men. Just like in the skateboard crowd on our shore, there was a ringleader there. Sitting on the back of the bench, legs crossed, waving his arms, throwing beer on his neighbors, laughing at his own jokes. Kostya sighed. - Do you see the one on the back of the bench? This is a seller of laughter. So he changed under the influence of the crowd. And earlier, when beautiful manners and courtly intelligentsia were still in fashion, he was different. Then, they addressed him respectfully - Alexey. Everyone called him to their place. He spoke wittily and told funny stories from his life. What kind of literary speech he had. And now, he is the riotous Lech, who has three censored words and those are slang. Kostya hunched over. And he continued quietly: “Of course, it’s not his fault.” And I myself am no better. Previously, I did not leave the gambling table at all, I gave easy luck to the gamblers. Now I even shy away from the throw-in. I don't want to do this anymore. I honestly would like to console him, to say that everything changes, including people. But I don't know how. I'm not good at phrases like this. So we both became quiet. In the meantime I finished the portrait. In my opinion, it turned out similar. I can’t say that it’s perfect, but... - Here. Carefully tearing the piece of paper out of the notebook, I handed it to the seller. - Is it true? Well, thank you? – Kostya was noticeably happy. And then he looked intently at the features of his own face. I tried to capture the general character, the way I saw it. And he seemed pleased. - Thank you very much, Maxim. It turns out I'm so handsome? – the roller joked. We both laughed. - Okay, I have to go! – He bent down to re-fasten the rollers. - The trumpet is calling, and everything like that! It was nice to meet you, maybe we’ll meet again sometime! – he waved his hand. - Yeah, then let's see you later! - While I was answering, Kostya turned his back onto the path and drove off. This is the kind of seller I wouldn’t mind meeting again. But we also need to have time to draw. As Kostya promised, luck pursued me as diligently as the damage had done before. While I was sitting by the pond, people, as if bribed, passed by and then stopped. Some sat directly on the grass or lawn fences. Just have time to notice everything interesting. Everything was great on this side. It was still possible to go to the other side, but I abandoned this idea. The memory of “Lech” became too sad. So I headed towards the house. When I passed by the gateway, a sleepy necromancer's pug poked his head out of it. Smile from ear to ear. I was hoping, apparently, that I would come running with forgiveness. He saw me and rubbed his eyes, saying, how come he’s walking joyfully, there’s not even a cast. I even waved my hand. Misha growled something like: “Well, just wait, I’ll get even with you!” and dived back into the darkness. I laughed. Cheerful, I went into the apartment, had a snack and decided to consolidate my success. Having sat down in the room, I took out paper, outlined a park and people walking on the sheet. Seller of the end I finished drawing quite late. It seemed to work out well. I didn't know whether my luck had expired or not. It's time to go to bed. But first I'll get some fresh air. I went out onto the balcony and left the door to the room open to let it get some air. For a couple of seconds I stood with my eyes closed and sniffed the night air. Suddenly there was a quiet rustling sound from the side. Someone sat down on the balcony railing. Definitely a dream seller. Confident of the answer “yes,” I called out to her: “Lucy?” Hello! - I'm not Lucy. - A quiet whisper hastened to inform me. Male, andobviously not familiar to me. Opening my eyes, I hastily turned around and shuddered. There was someone on the railing whom I never expected to see. Adrian was sitting in front of me. - Do I even look like a girl? – he asked calmly. - Honestly, no. At all. And as soon as I managed to answer him. Adrian sighed boredly. - I thought your reaction would be a little different. Yes, I’m shocked at how daring I am. - I thought you’d get scared there, for example, or faint... Thank you! I didn’t think that I looked like a weak-willed and nervous young lady. - Why did you suddenly appear? Would you like to drink tea with me? Hmmm, humor is the only thing that so far saves my brain from passing out. Although, in any case, it will be creepy to come to your senses and see this guy above you. - No, even though I love tea, you definitely can’t drink it with me. – Adrian laughed. And I refrained from asking: “Categorically, or in the next life?” - I didn’t know that you believe in the transmigration of souls. There’s no need to bulge your eyes out like that, I can’t read minds. It's all written all over your face. As Adrian had noticed, I looked at him with wide eyes. And then he grabbed the mentioned part of the body. - And yet, why did you come? – I decided to go to the end. Still, my intuition screamed at me that this meeting would not end well for me. I knew Adrian was a salesman, but I didn't know what. And the overall feeling from it was different. I perceived him differently than, say, Kostya or Lucy. And everyone else seemed to me like cheerful eccentrics with whom you could chat or have fun. If Misha from the gateway scared passers-by with his flashy costume and terrible makeup, then the person next to me simply had no need for all this. I was somehow subconsciously afraid of Adrian. Adrian became serious. - I always come to everyone. Everyone will see me at the end. The word “end” caught my attention. -Are you a seller of death, or what? – I smiled nervously. To this they answered me with a philosophical quote: - Death has nothing to do with us: while we live, it does not exist, and when it comes, we will already be dead. Despite the warm weather, I suddenly felt cold. I forget whose quote this is, but I remember reading it somewhere before. And my interlocutor continued, as if nothing had happened: “And no, I don’t trade in death.” No one will sell you what you can get yourself by at least jumping there. “He lazily pointed to the asphalt below. – Do you know how I differ from other sellers? I shook my head. - I choose who to come to. I cannot be summoned like the others. This is my difference. “He jumped off the railing, on which he had been swinging until recently, and began to step on me. Hardly with rosy intentions. I slowly retreated back into the room. Maybe I’ll have time to close it on the balcony. I didn’t think what to do then. In the meantime, it's worth trying to distract him. - So what are you selling anyway, Adrian? – for the first time I decided to call him by name. - Oh, you know my name... Commendable, I guess. I sell peace and quiet. - Ugh! – I exhaled loudly and leaned my elbows against the wall. “And I’m an idiot, I’ve already come up with God knows what, all sorts of horrors.” I was ready to slide down the wall, laughing hysterically. Adrian stood nearby and chuckled, apparently the joke was a success. - And the payment is your life. – The seller added. We were both already in the room. I missed my chance. I was happy early. I really am an idiot. I calmed down, but in vain. But he won’t force his peace on me, I hope? - As I said earlier, I come to everyone at the end. What to do? I have nowhere to go back... I don’t even have anything to defend myself with. I drove myself into a corner. - But is it really possible to sell something by force? - Understand, you don’t decide whether to take the goods from me or not. This is my trick, to decide for you in this situation. I tried to squeak something else. Adrian waved his hands impatiently: “It’s too late!” Your time is up. “He grabbed me by the shoulder and looked into my eyes. I saw his white eyes in every detail. I'm ashamed to say, but I closed my eyes. Was this a dream? Something thick and warm covered me. And they laid him on both shoulder blades. I was spinning from side to sideside and eventually fell to the floor. Hmm, strange, where was I before this? When I managed to get this “something” out of my head, it turned out that... I showed remarkable courage. Fighting with the blanket. And I fell out of bed. Everything that happened actually turned out to be a dream. After such an awakening, you can’t help but wonder, what about everything else? Was it true? I jumped up from the floor and, tangling in the blanket, went to the table. If everything was true, even if Adrian was a dream, I should still have yesterday’s sketches. Are they still there? At least a sketch of Adrian? I searched the whole table. I crawled under it, but found nothing. Was it all a dream? How so? I was sure of the reality of everything that had happened to me in recent days. Having already calmed down, I went out onto the balcony and looked towards the entrance with the necromancer. It is logical that there was no one there - it was morning. But for some reason, instead of the usual darkness, there is now a bright light shining there, attached somewhere above. There was only one thing left that could somehow prove all the events. Well, or at least partially confirm. I dialed the curator's number. She did not respond soon: “Maxim?” Why are you so early? Something happened? Ha, then I wanted to sleep, but now it’s like I’m acting out. - No, no, everything is fine. I just really want to know something about my job. - Which job? – It sounded surprised from the receiver. It’s strange that the first thing she didn’t remember was her last job. - Which I brought a couple of days ago, at eight o'clock in the evening. - Uh... You didn't bring anything. You had everything completed during school time. How so? Amnesia? Memory losses? Only from whom? - What about the time while I was sick? I was sick about a month ago! – I continued to ask, although I already knew the answer. - Are you sure everything is fine, Maxim? This year you have never missed class due to illness, I remember that for sure. – Somehow she was already tense, judging by her voice. We should wrap up. - Everything is fine, sorry for the early call. – I answered quietly. - Come on. By the way, don't forget about the exhibition. I nodded, although no one saw me, and hung up. It probably wasn't polite, but that's not what worries me right now. But I considered myself a completely adequate person, so what? Although Actually, why did I decide to convince myself of something? Doesn't make sense, logical? Quite logical. Ultimately, it's just a dream. This is what I convinced myself. *** In the end, I almost completely forgot that dream. I can no longer accurately describe the appearance of those I met; I could not name anyone’s name. Almost. I remember the name of the last person I saw. After all, it was because of him that I woke up, because of Adrian. If I had continued to sleep and have this same dream, I would have recognized other sellers. There were probably more of them. Why am I interested in this? Strangely, I often woke up in a cold sweat or found myself on the floor instead of the bed. Over and over again I saw white eyes, narrow pupils and a hand trying to grab me. It just didn't give me peace. Although I myself understand that this is already a clinic. However, it is better not to get hung up on such nonsense. A couple of weeks later we organized an exhibition of our course. They hung up posters and invited everyone. They almost started walking around with leaflets and inviting people. On the day of the exhibition quite a lot of people came. So, in the end, the advertising campaign did its job. I can say for sure that all my friends from the course did their best. Clear detailing, the plot is off the charts. Everyone, as if at random, stands near their paintings and is ready at any moment to interpret their own idea or idea. I chose not to stand close to the paintings, but to walk along them. So you won’t immediately understand that I am the author. I’d rather look at them myself and think what prompted me to think about such a topic. I tried to convey the dreaminess of what was happening as much as possible, but at the same time I depicted everyday life. I didn’t strive for a story for each composition, I just tried to convey what could await us on eachcorner. In the first picture I depicted a cheerful girl with blond hair in small curls. Jumping in one place, she waves a paper bag, from which sand of various colors pours out. And almost immediately it scatters in the wind, settling on passers-by and continuing to shine brightly. Next is a picture that evokes a dream with its entire appearance. There was a small park around the house, and a guy was taking a nap on a bench. His dark hair is tousled, as if he’s been licked by a cow, his mouth is partly open, and it looks like he’s about to snore. One hand, instead of a pillow, lies under the head, the other hangs from the bench and the chain of a pocket watch is clamped in it. The clock itself hangs almost close to the ground. Everyone who passes by him involuntarily slows down, although they do not pay attention to the guy. Perhaps this is a distinctive feature of almost all my works. Only in two are the main characters seen and actively interacting with people. And both of them are in the park. In one, a red skater balances on the railing of a bridge. Along the way, he explains something to several passers-by with skateboards. A smile on your face, freckles on your nose. One leg in roller skates on the railing, the other in the air. The guy leans a little to the side, but doesn't pay attention to it. Here in the park a drunken group is sitting on a bench. The ringleader sits on the side, on the back of the bench. It’s as if he is with them and at the same time separately. He waves a can, saying something funny, with one hand he ruffles the blond tuft on the back of his head. The mouth is stretched in a smile, but the eyes are sad and thoughtful, as if not happy with themselves. The funniest picture shows a frail young man with a crown on his head and an ermine robe. He is sitting at a table in a street cafe. He stirs the tea with a scepter and looks contemptuously at passers-by. Blonde hair with a red streak is carefully curled. There’s only one curler left above the ear, and the whole cutesy look is already causing laughter. Many more laugh at the sight of the neighboring work: a dark gateway and a painted face poking out from there. The burgundy robe glitters mysteriously in the semi-darkness. And a hand with crooked nails beckons you, they say, come and visit. But the facial expression is comically cunning and insidious and does not allow you to be afraid. The penultimate picture shows an underground passage. A bespectacled student in a checkered shirt is standing. A nerdy nerd, there's no other way to describe him. Depicted in a fit of stuttering. He pulls his hand to the side, either reading a speech, or trying to slow someone down. The other hand holds a handful, and in it there are unappetizing marmalades. At least I hoped that others would also see it as jelly beans and not something worse. I'm most pleased with my latest work. Everyone who passed by her and even caught a glimpse of her recoiled in fear, but then remained to take a better look. I drew a metro station. Perhaps this work breaks all records in terms of the number of people passing by. Everything is drawn unclearly, a little blurry. Specifically, so that the figure they are intended to block is clearly distinguished by a dark outlined silhouette. This guy lifts his hood with one hand. A sly grin peeks out from under it and whitish-gray eyes sparkle. With his other hand he reaches straight towards you. No wonder everyone recoils. But something catches in his eyes and everyone stops. As do I, by the way. I stopped opposite for something and stared at my own picture as if I was seeing it for the first time. I didn't care that others might also want to watch. I thought again about the reality of what I remembered. Although no. I was just remembering my funny dream. Well, okay, inspiration came to me in the form of a dream, and, in essence, I should be happy about it. And you shouldn’t think so hard about your own work. Let others do this. And yet I didn’t want to leave. Slowly turning away, I went to look at other acquaintances, who at that moment were smiling happily from the abundance of attention. But I didn’t even have time to move a couple of meters away when I was stopped by a loud exclamation behind me: “Wow!” I turned around a little surprised. Rest