As a child, I walked around the area. The neighboring street was repaired, and all the old road signs were removed into one pile. We folded two pairs of signs "Entry into the residential zone" / "End of the residential zone" and "Peak passage". The “residential zone” was wrapped with wire to the well-standing lighting pillars at the entrances to our yard, which connects two parallel streets. As we thought, the cars that passed through our courtyard became smaller. The signs of the "Peak Crossing" we made on a narrow street near our yard. Where a pedestrian path crossed her.
18 years have passed. This year the building and the street were renovated. All of our voluntarily installed road signs were replaced with new ones, they were placed on normal columns, painted with reflective paint, and under the signs of the "Peak Transit" the zebra was also drawn.
This is a nice child, and I am an adult aunt, I went to the sanatorium with a child for 10 years. In the Sanatorium library was held a literary victory for children. All participants were awarded prizes at the end of the contest, which included: an album, colored pencil, a magnetic with views of mountains and the sea... and balls. Ordinary balls are not inflated.
The children gave their prizes to their parents, they are dissatisfied, because they did not need this victory, they were cut off from their phones, the moms are dissatisfied, because the children are dissatisfied.
Here I say to my son: Do you know that?
I take the ball, blow it up, stretch the hole for air input. The air comes out of the ball with such a loud, penetrating pig whisper.
All the children were resurrected.
The whole sanatorium.
In the evening at dinner, the elderly neighbors at the table (he is a retired general, she is his most intelligent wife) say: a nightmare like today, whispered all day, until the head got sick.
And then my son proudly declares: It is my mother taught everyone!