I write a story in some sort of sadness, again understanding that anecdote.ru is not for philosophy, reasoning and conclusions, but a type for rust, as many believe. But anyway, opening the site on "stories" you are waiting for, of course, life tricks, and again, individual negative lessons of other people teach you to find those tricks that you need to see in time and bypass the side.
So here...
For example I.
Former Special Forces Officer of the USSR.
After the collapse of the country - former mint (on retirement).
What it achieved. What I know and know...
But I understand that if before, after a parachute jump, I ran with the soldiers 45 kilometers and performed the task, and in the meltdown, when there was no OMON and SOBRA, I crashed into all the heavy, then now I do not lift anything heavier than cocktails of cognac, pen and mouse comp.
Heavily, I hope for communications and telephone calls, and I don't bore NEVER (a type of lawyer).
At 55 years old, I ride a small jeep home-work-store-home and back.
It is idyllic to me!!! to
Oh! I’ve been raising my son for 18 years and I’m not a borse!!! Not a border!! I’m going to kill you if you’re wrong!! As a condemned.
and here. I go with my son on the way home, a million times on the same route. This is a type of signal!! In the window of BMV swirls, swirls, and again, the fuck, the fuck!!! The fucking!! When will these mountains stop us from giving birth to Russians from these mountains? The cock!! Which king invented these villains to include in our country?! The fucking!! Live in your mountains!! by Aula! Shake at yourself! Stay in the parish!! All of us!!! to
They cut. In the middle of the road in 4 rows! Two black men come out. Why Why? The cock! Why Why? What can you tell me in Russian? That I’m a little gray, old and on a expensive car?
Here the shoulders are straight down from the understanding of sadness.
I went out with my son and went out each time. I am the one and the son of the other. They went well, they went to bed. There are 10 cars!! Young and old came, men and women (even) pulled us a little away. But I understand that the mountaineers got so much of them that even we started to get a lot of them.
So these blacks sat in the car and, with the gasping, with the cries of Allah Akbar-type silenced. And we, the man 20, stand and look at them.
I don’t want to be an extremist, a chauvinist, or whatever they call me. Oh shit, you catch up! And with them! and catch! Catch your underdog!
The Russian! Take a handball fight! Only this “Russian language” will understand everyone!