I visited a friend in the village. He accompanies me, I tell him that apparently his family did not like it. The friend says, “They love you – they wanted to drink tea, they gave you sandwiches on the road, they told you to eat on the road... I get bored, I chase that it’s not love at all, love is not in this and all that.
In the evening, on the road to hang terribly wanted, I sit down the wicked, the mother of all in the world.
Well, I open the bag, get the butter, start to grab, and on the fourth butter I feel: LOVE...