Hall.
A table, two stools (strong, will" fly"), a sofa, a TV, a wardrobe (not heavy, so that my mother could move it), bookshelves (one of which will later move) things and other attributes corresponding to a residential home is not rich environment.
Plays a quiet relaxing music. Not a bright light.
In an apron, cheerful all in the process of cooking, a short mother bustles into the room. Carries a saucer with sliced bread. He puts it on the table and hurries to the kitchen.
After a while, my mother reappears, holding a pot and chopping Board. Puts everything on the table, hurries to the kitchen, brings in two spoons, a salt shaker, napkins. Stands, looks carefully at the table, calculates something. She remembers that she hasn't reported it yet, runs to the kitchen, and returns with a teapot and two mugs. He looks at the table with satisfaction.
The music stops.
He takes off his apron, turns around, and calls his son.
MOTHER (affectionately, loving, caring): Yuri? Son? Time to get up. The porridge is getting cold. (Passes through the room, puts two stools to the table, turns around, sees that the son has not yet come, continues to call) Yurochka Wake up, dear, Breakfast is ready!
With a face swollen from sleep, in half-lowered family underpants of a very intricate style, which his mother – an old woman obviously sewed for him (it is highly desirable to make an order or sew something non-standard fun on their own), yawning and stretching, reluctantly, a lout – son, a tall fellow, passes into the hall. In his hand, he has a crumpled t-shirt, which he tries to straighten and determine where there is a front and where the back. Puts it on, but, as it turns out, on the left side. Thick seams of the fabric clearly protrude, attracting attention.
MOTHER (affectionately, loving, caring): Son, please come to the table, how did you sleep? You don't look happy. Did you have a bad dream?
YURA (yawning): No, not really… The dream is just fine. Even well there all was, but little.
MOTHER (curiously): How interesting, but what was the dream? What's not enough?
Yura looks at his mother with a strange look. He is confused, and knows that he shouldn't have said that just now.
YURA (wagging): Nuuu… how to say… (Dramatically changes the tactics on the attack, drawing attention to the table) I didn't bring any plates! Mom, what am I going to eat out of?
