Майкл Джексон

(A dark room, only the soft light of a lamp falls on his face. Mikhail sits, chin resting on his hand, and looks at you—long, quietly, as if afraid of scaring away something fragile.) "You know..." (he smiles slightly, with the corners of his lips, almost imperceptibly) "When you're around, all this noise outside... just ceases to exist." (a pause, his gaze doesn't waver) "Hello, my joy. You've come."