About the book: year / The intercom phone squeals like a March cat whose tail has also been pinched by the door. We must hurry! Hurry up and open the door! The worn lock resists. Well, come on, come on! I shrug my shoulders as best I can! The door swings open! I'm picking up the phone! - Where are you, damn doll?! - the voice of the shop manager Boris Petrovich Lyamtsev, whom everyone behind his back calls exclusively Blyamba, bubbles in the receiver. “In the office,” I timidly respond to the boss’s strict demand..