“The aspiration after easy profits and greed saps the vitality of nature have nobody brought happiness,” concluded sagely Gencho looking very wisely again.

This very important thought was uttered and immortalized by the chronics on 9th April 1990 A.D., at noon, on the next day after the Great Public Prayer for Rain and Bountiful Crops.

“You have sapped it out of the first newspaper you have seen this morning but as an excuse for the bankruptcy of our company it sounds well,” replied Pencho in the same low-spirited tone,” although, this way you are rising in my opinion because I thought till now you are snapping vodka only.”

“Who told you it is from then newspapers!” took offense Gencho who felt this early morning (it means 11-12 o’clock a.m.) a very bad hang-over and was therefore particularly irritable.

“I bet you a 100 bucks?” reached Pencho for the rolled newspaper on the table.

“Well, no, I don’t bet with you, you are not a serious man.”

“Who is not a serious man, me?! And who has wrecked our company? My grandfather from the States? Do you know what my grandpa from the States was? – A businessman, s real businessman!” the last word was bate time by fist on the table.

“A businessman?” laughed ironically Gencho, “Hereditary features appear every second generation but judging on you and on the discouraging results of our common enterprise. Listen…

“Businessman’s my grandpa,
I’ll be a businessman like him.
When only brings me up my mum,
And I’ll be a businessman like him.”

“I can do better poems than you, don’t doubt it.”

“I’m just closing my eyes and listening to you, my poet,” said he with irony.

“O.K.”

“Gencho, Gencho, what’re you looking for?
I’m looking for some vodka now.
You’re looking for some vodka but there isn’t any
Because your mum doesn’t give you any money.”

“I don’t like it’” exclaimed Gencho.

“I don’t like your verse, too,” replied Pencho.

Here leave the chronics both poets in the pub to nag at each other because he wants to clear the rest of the circumstances about the idea of an easy way to riches, which belonged Pencho, as usual. Its only disadvantage was that… “Well, it is a matter of a separate drinking bout’” would say Pencho if he had any legal incomes.

“Willow grows itself without any care,” continued Pencho and his father’s car was bringing them meanwhile to the next village D., “one has only to find a boggy place, to stick willow sticks into the ground and is waiting for them to grow. You don’t do anything else. You don’t dig – nothing. Then you sell willow swishes to the basket makers to make their baskets and similar things of it. You don’t need to have much sense but to have it on time,” told he very wisely again. “A fool digs a vineyard, a hero drinks wine. This is a proverb.”