Kolja Romanov, who had a status as a psychic besides among other things, had total empathy for the pickled herring that he was able to eat, he got up in the morning, he went down to the Black Sea coast and stood at the end of the pier. Hands on hips and eyes staring into the distance. He was a little upset, or rather impatient. Yes, that's the right word. Impatient.
Because he had dreamed the previous night, it was even more interesting. He had dreamed that in the morning when he would come down to the coast and stand right here - yes, right here – at the end of the pier, hands on his hips as he was doing now, imitating his dream, with his head slightly lowered and forward a little stiffened, eyes on the distance, watching, his lips slightly pursed, he let out a small burp from his throat in to the light summer breeze - a special technique of releasing it out through his nose - the sky would be cloudy. But it wasn’t. And this was a little confusing...
