The man no longer cared. And he had told his wife that morning before leaving their tiny apartment that he was going to say something this time, even though he knew what that meant. He would not be coming home, ever again.
Sick of waiting hours in the bread lines and the bread always running out, he began to complain loudly. And sure enough, the party men were there in an instant to drag him away. You were never seen again. But, he no longer cared.
They took him to the nearest alley, where one of the men stood him up against the wall. "See here, Comrade. Talking badly about Party is not permitted. Now, go home. There will be bread tomorrow. No more talking badly about Party!"
And they let him go. He stumbled back to his building, climbed the four stories and went immediately to the tiny kitchen. He slumped into a chair and that's where his wife found him, in tears.
"No bread again, Sergei?"
"No. It is worse than that. Now they have run out of bullets!"