A look at the life from the other side. Second book. Later in the afternoon

Somewhere in the mid-nineties, for some reason, I bought a 21-th Volga made in 1967. It glistened with fresh paint and nickel. It was all genuine the engine and gearbox, and even the tires on the wheels. Most marvelous were the front seats, which could be expanded into a big bed. And the sweet smell in the car the one from my childhood.