Лібертшз 🇮🇱🇵🇸🏴🏴‍☠️🏳️‍⚧️↙️ | The Scene: The merry month of May, in the year of our Lord 2025. The s...

The Scene: The merry month of May, in the year of our Lord 2025. The stage is set in Krasnogorsk, a satellite town orbiting the grand city of Moscow, within the bounds of the dwelling-place called “Ilinskie Meadows.” The Matter: Picture, if thou wilt, a prodigious fellow, unclad as Adam in Eden, perched in the likeness of Rodin’s Thinker upon the outer box of an air-cooling device, affixed to the eighth floor of a sturdy edifice. This man, unknown to the dwellers of the apartment, doth hold his counsel and refuseth all parley. The good folk of the chamber strive mightily to draw this giant within, yet their strength faileth against his ponderous bulk, the cruel pull of gravity, and his resolute unwillingness to aid their cause. By deduction most keen, they surmise this fellow could only have arrived at such a perch by tumbling from the window above, where lieth but one floor more—the ninth. Thus, the apartment’s inhabitants venture to the neighbor above, knocking upon her door. She, in high dudgeon, bideth them hence with sharp words, casteth out a heap of manly garments, and retireth to her slumber. Only by the aid of the valiant men of the Ministry of Emergency Situations is this titan at last drawn into the chamber, where it is confirmed that he is deep in the cups, besotted to the point of senselessness. Throughout this ordeal, the man—some fourteen stone in weight—doth bleed, befoul himself, and hurl threats at his rescuers. The Reconstruction: A full day passeth ere the tale is unraveled, and thus it is revealed: This man, a driver of hired carriages by trade, did come to make merry with a maiden of kind heart. She, deeming him too far gone in drink to take the reins, bade him stay rather than venture homeward. Together they caroused half the night. In time, the fellow, overcome with ardor for her kindness, sought to claim her in carnal embrace. Yet, so muddled was he that he could not walk but crawled to her chamber. A stalemate ensued, for his intent could not be fulfilled—his limbs lacked the grace to enact his base desire, while she, pinned beneath his nigh one-and-a-half hundredweight of passion, could not free herself. At her cries, a neighbor, stout of heart, came thundering at the locked portal, threatening to summon the watch. This roused the drunken aggressor, who resolved to flee the scene of his misdeed. Scorning the door as his path, he chose the window—forgetting, in his haze, that he dwelt upon the ninth floor. Stepping into the void, this hapless soul, under the merciless sway of gravity, plummeted downward, landing with the precision of a marksman in the air-cooling box below. There he stuck, like Winnie-the-Pooh in Rabbit’s burrow, grievously abrading his posterior in the process. Unable to move further, he sat, as if following the musings of Dostoevsky, pondering his misdeeds whilst unwittingly fouling the windows of a war-tried veteran below. The maiden, content that her ordeal was ended, called not for the watch but laid herself down to rest after her heavy night. Were it not for the dwellers of the apartment opposite, where our hero was ensnared, he might yet linger in that sorry perch. Thus ends this curious chronicle, a comedy of errors writ large in the annals of human folly.