|
Kirill Ryabov
Кирилл Рябов
Birth at
22 July 1983
|
I was born in Leningrad on the Vyborg side, on a warm and sunny July day.
I was born at thirteen o'clock fifty minutes Leningrad time. At this point, the ceiling in the next room collapsed. Fortunately, no one was hurt. The hospital was preparing to close for major repairs. I, blue as a chicken seventy-five, and howling as a five-ton bomb, was brought to light and presented to my mother. For some reason, I had eerie black hair, and people thought I was a gypsy or a Georgian. . . Besides me, four
more
I was born in Leningrad on the Vyborg side, on a warm and sunny July day.
I was born at thirteen o'clock fifty minutes Leningrad time. At this point, the ceiling in the next room collapsed. Fortunately, no one was hurt. The hospital was preparing to close for major repairs.
I, blue as a chicken seventy-five, and howling as a five-ton bomb, was brought to light and presented to my mother. For some reason, I had eerie black hair, and people thought I was a gypsy or a Georgian. . .
Besides me, four girls were born that day. I was the only man. . .
Some time later, my mother called my father and reported the birth of a boy weighing four six hundred. With an unsteady, drunken hand, Dad wrote with a piece of pencil on the edge of the magazine "Worker": "Boy. 460 g." Then he went to the neighbor in the dormitory, the captain of the factory football team, and drank a pot of braga from him.
The captain announced:
- Zenit called, you bastards. . .
Then, without signs of consciousness, he buried his forehead in a plate with green peas. His father soon followed suit.
However, four days later, he came to pick up my mother and me in great shape. The last time I saw it, it was like a lot of sweating. My mom didn’t notice anything.
Dad took me in his arms. We got on the tram and went to our communal apartment in Petrogradskaya. In the house where the poet Nikolai Zabolotsky lived for forty years. . .
You think it's an accident?