It was a story about a lawyer, a dirty wall, and an expensive telephone. I have a friend from a kindergarten. Chicken is good but honest. and divorced. And, as is required by law and human conscience, half of the earnings... namely the apartment in the center of the city. The Court. On the part of a former bunch of angry relatives, and an important mastite lawyer in horned glasses with a leather portfolio. On my friend’s side, I’m alone, in modest jeans and a shirt. At the court, the relatives conspired for a long time to push speeches, the lawyer shook in a hurry with the back-number donation contract. The contract is clearly lip, but how to prove it? I nervously broke through the contract sheets, looking for something to do. Very unexpected for the other side. For the court, and even for myself, I asked the only question that made everyone stupid. The Lord! And where did the computer, and the main printer for printing this contract in 1998??? A lost look, an unclear lawyer's silence, and a won case!
By the way. I am not a lawyer. I am a nurse.