Something reminded me of the case when I and my future wife moved away from our parents for our first shooting and decided to prove that I AM A MAN!

That water crane, the time of the Bronze Age, I remembered for my whole life. This entirely rusted monster, holding on a limestone plaque, sending water fountains in unpredictable directions, from unexpected places, dropping unceasingly and making outward sounds, dreamed of me in my nightmares a week and a half after its repair.
It all started with the fact that the sealing valve, which was to block the water in the pipe leading to the crane, banally collapsed when trying to twist it. Thus e. It fell down entirely - there was not even a pipe left for the plywood.
Then, having agreed with the carpenter and blocked the water in the entire stand, I began to dismantle the crane. To begin with, fill it with a means of news. As I said at the beginning, he held on to it: after 3 hours of soaking and draining, both the valves on the crane and a piece of the hook that once twisted the crane to the hot water pipe fell. The remains of the crane were eaten out by holes and covered with cracks, and the traces of repairs of previous MUZIKOV! could be removed as archaeological layers.
The dismantling of the crane was completed with the help of a hammer, a hammer, a drill, a pin, a knife and a mat. But Stsuko was jealous of the tank armor.
When my wife came from work, I could be taken to neurology to be placed. But I replaced the crane, setting up at 9 o’clock.