Have you ever ridden a Ukrainian marshrutka? If not, it is worth having such an experience. When most people think about an eventful or memorable place, they almost certainly would not picture the marshrutka, but let me tell you my story. It was an ordinary Monday morning. The bus station was full of bustling students worried about their upcoming exams and credits. “Where is the marshrutka?” I sighed to myself. A few minutes later the marshrutka slowly rolled to a stop. The brakes and the door squealed and the impatient crowd started to get on it. I stepped up and had a stroke of luck to be first on the bus. The view I saw was not exactly attractive: rows and rows of blue, usually broken, seats, a narrow aisle in the middle of the bus, hundreds of hazy dirty windows with a plenty of eye-catching ads stuck on them, and, of course, the lemon-yellow  annoying exterior. I gave 2 hryvnias to an angry bus driver and hurried to one of the few free seats near the window. I was not really surprised with the graffiti masterpieces on the seat in front of me. Soon the marshrutka was overcrowded but desperate people outside were trying to get on it anyway. Eventually, the door closed with a screech and one more ordinary ride started. The roads were extremely rough and a bad-tempered driver drove so quickly that I felt every bump in my lower back. Those standing were falling on each other during the harsh turns.

 None of the chaos bothered me because I was enjoying the picturesque view of the rising sun and glittering of little sunrays on the windows. “Are you going to first period?”- a quiet voice interrupted my exciting contemplation. While glancing surprisingly over my right shoulder, I saw a cheerful man in his late 30’s, with dark brown hair and big hazel eyes. He was smiling so broadly at me that there were lots of wrinkles around his eyes and I could even count all of his white-pearl teeth. The man was wearing a strange suit and had a small leather bag in his left hand. “Yes,” I said indifferently. He gave up for a while after my unconcerned answer. “What is your name?” he asked loudly and more confidently. I turned slowly to him and saw his happy, smiling face again that started to irritate me. I hesitated for some time but answered. He asked me different and sometimes strange questions again and again. It seemed like I was at an exam. Finally, he said with a happy beam on his face, “Bye , see you!” and added quietly “…maybe”. The man got off the marshrutka and disappeared quickly in the bustling crowd.

Since that Monday I haven’t seen him, but I will never forget that happy, smiling face. I don’t know exactly why he intended to get acquainted with me and why he asked me so many questions, but  this event has made my boring ordinary Monday morning special and unusual.

It was almost midnight, I sat in a comfortable chair and observed the view out of my window.  The streets were empty, naked trees were waiting for snow, lonely lanterns lighted up road for homeless dogs and hobos. Time after time cars passed very fast, and young people, students, laughed loud as they returned home or went somewhere somewhere. But, suddenly the street grew calm.

A pack of 7 dogs looked for warmth and food. The boss of the pack was a big white dog, with short ears and a long fluffy tail, like a wolf. The dog was clean with shiny hair. It was very tidy. The boss was really graceful and somehow proud, because it was the first. It helped me to understand that it was a she. I called her  “Whitey”. Then I imagined her past life, because obviously she wasn’t like others. The dog annoyed her owners and they just threw her out. I understood this because she was brought up better then the others. She proudly carried her head.  They ferret out in a heap of leaves and then in to the rubbish, but  Whitey didn’t and everyone brought food for her.

In a second a hobo appeared, the pack made a dash for him. They barked at him loudly. He opened his bag and gave them something to eat. It was his breakfast. It was difficult to contemplate. They were eating with the speed of light and wanted more.  The poor hobo was standing in his rags with those big bags and nothing else. I could only heard glass bootless knock to each other. He come up to the branch, drew the old blanket out of his bag and spread it on the branch.  He laid down and covered his tatters. The dogs became his faithful friends, started to protect him by sitting near the branch. Whitey was in head of the pack.  There were no light, - so I could only see the steam which went out of his mouth. So, it was clear: outside was really cold weather.

The picture was really kind and I was nearly to crying. In one episode I saw how cruel and good people can be. The world is mad. I was exhausted and went to see my happy dreams.