Reading time 6 minutes
He used to come every three months. A handsome, gray-haired gentleman with a youthful sparkle in his eye, a charming smile, and a large leather briefcase.
From that briefcase, carefully, almost ceremoniously, he was taking out drawings signed “Butenko pinxit,” and a moment later, the air in the room was full of sighs of awe or bursts of laughter, or both at once. The pictures were filled
