Or, for example, you’re in the subway from work, and next door, side by side, a guy sits down and starts looking at the Doctor’s tablet. The 8th season of New Scout! He sits and looks! And at this moment there is such a spiritual affinity with a strange guy to you that you want to smile somehow stupidly, push your elbow into the side and say something like "Alonsy!" or that butterflies are cool, or just tell this strange, but obviously amazing person that you also love Doctor Who. And he will then, of course, take off the headphones and smile to you warmly, and then you will definitely go out at the same station and talk in the cafe all night, discussing the end of the season and all the controversial moments of the old. I would like the ninth and eleventh. And the twelfth! And Mickey! And that swan in the third row!
But not though. No is. No is! He gets through his sinus a hunting beer bottle and begins it, sorry, to drink. With pleasure! The Hunting!
No, I am not a hanja and I do not treat drinking beer with indulgence, rather with active support, but, fucking, in the subway! Fuck the hunt! It would be okay... And what to expect from this man? You can throw anything out! I don’t like the eleventh. Whatever it is! I went back to the station earlier. But I already decided that if there was a girl, we would call her Donna! How is it? This is how alcohol, you can say, destroyed my personal life. Very instructive story.