On the wave of posts about rural disco.

During his studies at the institute, after passing the summer session, he went to his grandmother in the village to help with the farm. The next night I decided to go to the club. At the approach meet local and the interrogation begins:

Who is? from where?

My grandmother, my grandmother, lives there.

And I am getting closer to the ring, the thing begins to smell fried. And here one says:

Let us bring him our own. And he poured me a glass to the edges of the stinking sameon.

I smelled his sleeve, his sleeve. He gives me an apple, and I say:

We don’t eat after the first glass.

Just look at the local.

The guys were great, but I never went to the club.