yes, when i came for him, and nela was already 80, in my opinion, 3 years old. well, the same old man, uh, with a great sense of humor, and i say, listen, but my left hand is somehow very weak. well, you need to make it harder. fuck why? you're already old, you'll soon be playing at all. i say, come on, let's make a set for me and you sit there in the factory there in the room you check that you are listening there, and suddenly i started playing a song hmm hear me good and somehow yourself sing and play like that. well, i thought about it and just turned around, and he was standing next to me and crying. he asks. it's about love. i say, yes, i say, it's audible. hear me good love. love does not treat me to go. i breathe in the street, and i sit for a month, and the moon glows in the sky to meet you and me, your italian instruments are bruised, that is, he no longer sings with a stalinist accent, he sings with a russian accent, and although he is complex mechanical, but he yet spirited. he is inside something spiritual air. when i play it i am talking, and this