I recently moved from Holland to Germany. I just crossed the border, as a car of customs outputs me, and a manicure, a stunt, with red letters behind me somewhere to the side of the highway. We stopped at an abandoned parking lot. From the car from the driver’s seat comes out a cute blonde in a customs shirt, and from the right door an acne boy, dressed in the same green uniform, but without a cobra on the side.

They approach me. The girl strictly so demands to present documents, and the young man modestly shakes at the right window. Having seen that my papers are okay, and having learned that I am a doctor, the customs officer warms her eyes, smiles gently and is already relaxed, you can say as yours, asks if it is possible to explain his mistakes to the trainee on my example. I agree, of course. It’s nice when such a beautiful woman doesn’t want to break up with you. And the mistakes of others are always interesting, tea, not your own.

"You know, Jürgen," said my hand, "you have managed to get up so that, by shooting at him, she shows me, I can get into you. Get up right!

He looks somewhere through me. and smiles.