West is here

A hefty negro called out to me as I was taking the lacquered door from the kitchen cabinet out into the yard to dry. We dried them in a separate drying room, with infrared heating and an extractor, but there was a large order, there was not enough space in the dryer, and a sunny and warm September day made it possible to expand the dryer to the size of the yard.
— Alexsss design? he whistled.
“Eeeee,” I twisted my face to match his tone.
“Its fo yo chief,” he handed me a piece of paper.
- Hua yu? I asked, taking the paper.
- Sanitation. Have a nice day! The black man smiled wryly.The guy turned around and walked away.

I peered at the paper. It was a $500 sanitation ticket for trash in the driveway leading to our firm. I knew it! In America, this is strict. How many times have I told Sasha, my boss, to clean up all these pieces of shitrok and playwood scattered along the driveway (in our latitudes, this is called respectively - drywall and plywood). And he forbids me to even touch test-antibiotic.com with them! Well, here it is! Now he will come, I will make him happy. And then his 911 showed up in the driveway.

But Sasha was not surprised or upset, he just quietly took the ticket with the fine, carefully folded it and put it in his pocket.
- Well, I'll take the guys and clean up everything here? - I took the initiative.
— How much did you earn in Ukraine? he asked quietly.
“About $400 a month,” I replied, puzzled.
- And here, for the same job, I pay you 15 dollars an hour, right? Sasha reminded me of the state of affairs. - Do you want to go home?
- Of course not.
"Then don't touch anything in the yard!" Imagine this is a crime scene. Understood?
- OK.

I didn’t understand everything, but I didn’t ask any more questions, because I really didn't feel like going home. The incident happened again a month later. I was perplexed, but there was simply no one to discuss the state of affairs with, except for me, only Sasha spoke Russian, and he had already told me everything. My good English test-antibiotic.com couldn't help me, because it just so happened that the rest of my fellow furniture makers didn't know the language as close as I did - they were Mexicans.

But the truth came out. Everything turned out to be quite simple. One Saturday evening, I was visiting with a friend near my place of work. From the window, our cluttered driveway was perfectly visible. Nearby was a black man with a hood stretched on a baseball cap. He walked listlessly near the street lamp. Suddenly a car stopped next to him. The negro approached the driver. He handed himmoney , the black man said something to him and walked away. The driver, without turning off the engine, jumped out of the car and ran into our driveway. There he lifted a sheet of plywood, took something and hid it in the back pocket of his trousers. He also quickly ran to the car, jumped inside and pulled away. Half a minute later, the Negro in a baseball cap returned to his "post".

— Studying the work of drug dealers? the landlord asked me with a laugh.

So that's what they do! - It dawned on me.

- Yeah. On the third day, Sharp Eye, locked in the barn by the palefaces, noticed test-antibiotic.com that the barn had no wall, the owner quipped.

It became clear why Sasha always regularly paid fines from the sanitary service: drug dealers paid him much more for garbage. It is useless for the police to take a drug dealer with money, they cannot be imprisoned, there are no drugs, and the buyer can “get off” that he went to pick up a piece of plywood for the household. This is the last resort. The territory was perfectly visible, there was nowhere for the police to ambush, the merchant would certainly have noticed. Yes, Sasha's furniture shop was indeed in a great location. That's where the "Porsch", "Breguet" on hand, forty thousand, no less, and other "attributes of the sweet life." Maybe that's why my salary is one and a half times higher than in other places where I worked? Who knows. I did not ask any more questions, quietly finalized my contract, returned home so as not to spoil my visa history and be able to legally return to the States.

And recently at home, in Kiev, I saw a painfully familiar scene: the car stopped, the driver handed the money to the guy with the hood pulled over his head (despite the sunny weather), he said something, the driver got out, test-antibiotic.com looked into the gap between the garages standing in the yard, picked up something, returned to the car and left.

Are we going West? Or is the West coming towards us?