I sit in Mac. I don’t touch anyone, I turned my back to the world. Here I feel, I’m ticked in the back, and a woman’s voice says, “Well, don’t touch my aunt!” and I cover my face with my hair, depicting the girl from the “Call,” I turn. And I say with a chubby low voice: “Yes, Lucha, don’t touch my aunt!”
I have never seen such frightened children.