Foma saw in the carriage the small figure of Yakov Mayakin, but even that aroused no feeling in him.
A lamplighter ran past Foma, overtook him, placed his ladder against the lamp post and went up.

The ladder suddenly slipped under his weight, and he, clasping the lamp post, cursed loudly and angrily.

A girl jostled Foma in the side with her bundle and said: "Excuse me." He glanced at her and said nothing.

Then a drizzling rain began to fall from the sky--tiny, scarcely visible drops of moisture overcast the lights of the lanterns and the shop windows with grayish dust.

This dust made him breathe with difficulty.
"Shall I go to Yozhov and pass the night there?
I might drink with him," thought Foma and went away to Yozhov, not having the slightest desire either to see the feuilleton-writer or to drink with him.
At Yozhov's he found a shaggy fellow sitting on the lounge.