"Our correspondent died tragically on editorial assignment..." - write tomorrow in the news. Only I won't see it, because I crashed on the concrete floor of the workshop of an abandoned factory. I fell from a huge height. But for some reason he did not die, but failed during the late Soviet Union. And he got into the body of a guy who had just received a diploma from the Faculty of Journalism, who was assigned to the factory circulation. Oh, how ironic! Where did I get so angry that the wheel of Sansara sent me to work in the press again?