I have a few stories about how the boys came to me. One of them still warms my soul. I was about 28 years old, then.



I have a motorcycle, and I ride it. Once after work, I decided to go to the toilet and buy home for dinner something in maca. I take off the helmet, and the boy runs to me and begins enthusiastically:

You have such a great motorcycle! Is it Honda? I have a PC, but it’s broken. Let me fix it and we will ride together?

Boy, how old are you?

16... So, I’ll fix it, let’s ride? ? to

I don’t like to ride with someone, I’m alone.

I went to buy a burger. I go back to the motic, and there on the envelope a paper with my phone and name, Denis.

Denis, know, I kept that paper. It warms my heart. And if I don’t give god I’ll remain a 40-year-old aunt with a bunch of cats, I’ll still call you and we’ll ride. You just fix your own.