I go out to smoke and choose a victim.
Can you tell me what time? And at the same time I push my two fingers over my mouth, as if I ask to smoke.
I never thought that the screw of riding squirrels in the human brain can be clearly seen by the eyes. At the fifteenth second, he grabbed his mouth and tried to combine these two requests into one. Then he gave me an open package of "Kenta" and, a little delayed, added:
The eleven hours...