The Empire of Reimia (3)

Latro, sitting at his desk, was rocking back and forth in his chair, with his hands behind his head and his feet on the table, wondering how it was that only about half of the "babyfaces" received a passing grade for "neatness"? And was it really that that was being evaluated? He imagined it: an old woman, who should already be preparing for her final rest, sitting half a meter away from the table so that her age-related belly wouldn't get in the way, and grimacing, with wrinkles already appearing on her face, making various expressions, and emphatically assigning grades, muttering some nonsense and rubbing her hands. Then she gets up from the table, accidentally knocks over a pile of empty beer cans, and just as she is, in her clothes, falls into bed, but not to her beloved man, but to a pillow with a picture of the empress, with a rather stained pillowcase, after which she loses consciousness.
"Thanks for your opinion," he thought, momentarily losing his balance from these thoughts and miraculously managing to grab the edge of the table so as not to fall to the floor.