About the book: year / . About the Lviv officer hare. In the summer of 1990, in the uniform of a Soviet officer, I was returning from a business trip. I was in transit in Lviv at 4 am, and the next train took me away at 8 am from the same station. There were already tickets. The sun was just rising. Transport hasn't started yet. There was enough time to get to know the city and I walked along the tram tracks towards the dawn. Around 7 o'clock, having found myself in good order, I boarded a tram along the station route. By this time the vanguard of the working class had booked the seats to capacity. The aisles are empty, there is no crowd. This is where the controller intervenes in the process of getting to know the sights of the city of Lviv, demanding “hands up”, or another appropriate occasion, and offering to present a ticket for the tram. I had practical skills in traveling like a hare on public transport since my cadet epaulettes. A monetary allowance of 7 rubles presupposed an economy regime. But the sparkling heels of a yuft boot running away from the conductor are one thing. In this case, the cadet's overcoat acquired an aura of valor rather than greed. What to do here? Make excuses? There was no bread at home. And they sent me. But you don’t have five kopecks because your wife didn’t give you? I show you the train tickets. Arrived at 4. I left at 8. The kiosks are closed, the counselor does not have tickets. The reason for traveling without a ticket is valid. The controller's arguments were not impressive. Realizing that resistance was useless, I took out the requested 3 rubles. The mood was gone. I have never been in the namesake of a carrot lover. But then suddenly the hegemon raised his voice in defense of the city guest. “You can’t sell a ticket yourself, but you want to collect a fine from the person.” And he advised me: “Don’t give him money!” Apparently my answer served as a call for a riot on the ship. And I just said that I was going in military uniform. And I would never have given a fine if I had not valued the honor of my uniform in such a situation... The working masses liked my answer so much that a social explosion on a tram scale occurred. Only the attributes of power in the form of a bag for fines and a controller’s headband saved the encroacher on my three rubles from immediate deportation from the carriage. The three ruble was forcibly torn from my hands and moved into my pocket. This was the kind attitude towards the Soviet officer’s uniform in Lvov