Medvedev Dmitriy: http://www.proza.ru/2013/04/14/788
The bus stop was packed with people, who shifted their weight impatiently and looked at the road with grim expressions. Among that crowd, also waiting for a bus, stood a bored child and held the hand of one of the women.
“Mom”, he pulled at her sleeve. “May I play with someone here?”
“Those are serious, grown up people. They don’t care for your games.” The woman replied.
“What if I sing them a cheery song, they won’t be so serious and smile?”
“Those are serious, grown up people. They don’t care for your songs.”
“And if I tell them about how I scrapped my knee today, will they feel sorry for me?”
“Those are serious, grown up people. They don’t care for your pain.”
The child made a face and dug his free hand into his own pockets, looking for something to amuse himself. Suddenly, some loose change fell out from the pocket to the ground and all the grown up, serious people turned with interest towards the sound of his money.