For three years a simple pensioner filled a hole in the road, while residents and employees of the HOA argued over who should do it.

Greetings.

It all started when a deputy settled on our street. And suddenly all sorts of nishtyaks fell on us, as if by magic: first, the road between the houses was paved, by the way, for the first time after the Soviet regime. The locals clattered their tongues, stamped rubber boots on the asphalt and did not believe in such generosity.

Then they installed a telephone line and an unscheduled gas pipeline. True, for this we had to pick out fresh asphalt. After laying, the holes were patched up, which surprised the old-timer, but they did it in the best traditions of public utilities, namely, carelessly.

After a couple of years, these patches began to fail, and the asphalt began to collapse. And now, at the crossroads, a gorgeous pit was formed, which was filled with muddy, dirty water, encouraging pedestrians and motorists to perform mysterious dances, jumping and wagging from bump to bump.

While pedestrians, motorists and homeowners' association employees were bickering who should fill this hole - I must say that by that time the deputy had already moved out of our street, as well as attention of the authorities to our problems - a pensioner from a neighboring house undertook to carry into this pit various construction waste that he had from construction works.

The local people were skeptical about this activity. What can one person do against such a Russian disaster as a hole in the road? Many gave him advice, someone demanded to stop littering on the road, someone chuckled and called him an eccentric. But the eccentric continued to do his job.

The pit did not give up. And the eccentric walked around her, putting his hands behind her back, and wondering where and what else to add. He could often be seen in the neighborhood with a wheelbarrow in his hands and a shovel, when the old road surface was removed on the federal highway, which is not far from us. Some of this wealth was sacrificed to our pit.

And she was insatiable. Eagerly absorbing everything that our pensioner brought her. But after three years, we began to notice that the pit began to shrink, smooth out, and this year for the first time in a muddy road and pedestrians and motorists can safely and freely move along crossroads.

All these three years our eccentric, whom they began to call behind the eyes as the Roadman, continued to fill the hole. And even began to hear words of gratitude from neighbors in his address.

Every morning I stand at the window with a cup of coffee and watch the Road worker go around his property, hands behind his back, and watch his road property with a keen eye.

And here is a photo of a neighboring intersection on our street, where there is no such road worker.

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Alexander.

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