In her refrigerator flourish mummified cucumbers, two mysterious civilizations in peals, a tomato whirlwind and a month-old potato at the height of the incubation (then she will surely become a butterfly mahogany). Before getting something, I test the housewife of the apartment, how long it lies there and who cooked it, then coldly throw it away. Afterwards, we open the window in coordinated movements, spray the air refresher, my tank, and repeat everything again until each civilization has its own little Nibiru. Dasha is noticeably nervous at such moments - it is difficult to say goodbye to someone who is about to call you mother and stretch their polyps to you.

laugh_with me