MOM (sorry): So I'm old, I don't have any teeth. And so I try to be careful.

JURA (on the nerves): It doesn't work very well!

My mother shrugs guiltily and continues to eat. The chomping sounds come up from time to time.

JURA (convoluted, making faces): It may sound a little strange, it may even be rude, and I admit that it may even be outrageous, but … Listen… And you couldn't eat somewhere out there… in the kitchen, for example, because you're losing your appetite, and Breakfast is the most important food, as you said yourself…

My mother humbly takes her Cup and spoon and leaves the table.

MOM (sorry): Yes, Yes… I understand. When I was young, my grandfather also irritated me with such phenomena… here it came back to me. Enjoy your meal, son. I'm in the kitchen.

Mother leaves.

The son makes a disgusted face, and a little contemptible chills run through him (he twitches). Looks to see if mom's gone, makes a face. The mood lifts, and he begins to eat with an arrogant arrogant expression on his face.

With a clang, a clang and a crash, almost falling, Sanek runs into the room, trying to keep his balance.

An iron basin and bucket, a ladle, all this also flies into the room apparently after meeting with the clumsy foot of a not too young and not particularly attentive man.

SANEK (on emotion, flying into the room): .. Oyu.... Mother…

Yura sits with his back to him, jumps up from the clang and crash, spills porridge on his pants, the plate falls to the floor, but the spoon with the pitiful remnants of Breakfast is still in his hand.

YURA (moving away from the shock, trying to cope with a nervous TIC that doesn't know where it came from): Sanek… Healthy, old boy. You what this nor light nor SRA…, (takes a breath) nor dawn, Yes still and so outrageous. And what about the mother? I didn't hear…

Sanek collects the basin, bucket,and ladle that he has dropped, and carefully sets it all aside.

SANEK (irritated): Yes, I'm talking… Your mother is a good woman. Economic. All something kolgotitsya, something pyzhitsya, something all makes, prepares… (points to the basin and bucket), washes, obviously. Or are you doing the Laundry?

Yura's indignant facial expressions and gestures speak for themselves.

YURA (taken aback): Are you a fool?

SANYA (smoothing out the corners): Me? Yes kind of not really. It's just that the "tazovederny compositions" in your house did not cross my path before. And about neither light nor SRA… (takes a breath) nor dawn, so it's you overreacted. What a morning, it's almost eleven o'clock!

Yura licks the remains of the porridge from the spoon and calls out to his mother with displeasure.

YURA (loudly, addressing the kitchen): Mom! Here it is… Need a rag… and bring a dustpan with a brush!

Mother comes running with a rag, brush and dustpan, warmly greets Sanka. He's busy cleaning up after his son.

YURA (to his mother, incredulously): Mom, is it really eleven o'clock?

MOTHER (calmly, good): True, my son, it's already past eleven.

YURA (to his mother, indignantly): Why did you Wake me up so late? Didn't I tell you to Wake me up at nine? We have a business meeting with Sanka today. I should have been prepared, at least had time to Wake up properly!

MOTHER (calmly, good): I did Wake you up, son. I went to you four times, but you didn't Wake up. Grumbled, swore, and threw a pillow at me the last time. Already the Breakfast was cold, and I had to warm it up. I tried, really.

YURA (to his mother, indignantly): So you're not trying hard enough. I should have done something different, I don't know… smart. Shamed me in front of a friend.

Yura makes an indignant grimace and rolls her eyes.

SANYA (smoothing out the corners): Come on, whatever. With whom it does not happen. I sometimes go as far as twelve, or even two, once in a while.

MOTHER (with interest): What kind of event are you planning? Business meeting? Did you decide to get a job?

Sanek and Yura look at their mother with a condemning, reproachful look, but they are silent.

My mother understands their look and shakes her head.

MOTHER (disappointed): Well yes… What am I, really? What kind of work in thirty-six years. Small yet. (Sanku) And it's probably too late for you, Sasha. (He goes on with his cleaning) Never mind, we'll sleep over sometime. I understand everything, these are difficult times, the employer cheats at every step. (Son) You'd better be at home, so it's more likely to be, and calmer. I've got a pension for a thousand dollars, and I've taken some sewing work home. Normal, what to complain about, many who live worse.