It was always confusing the manner of some - used prejudices from the balcony and in the window to throw out.
Especially on the weekend when "parents at the country"....
Below me the young man was so distracted...Even lower – the grandmother is alive. Pronunciations hang on the branches of trees. There are summer rains. Gandhs are slowly poured with rainfall and transformed into colorful fruits....The grandmother then ticks them with a stick, trying to guess - what this pink and yellow matured there.
And I can't smoke on the balcony quietly - laughing with tobacco smoke...
Shortly on Friday night, he called on the door and talked to a girl in the neighborhood. On Friday – not to burn it, I’m not a beast.
She was glad that the infa stuck on her and did not protect the births.
The fruit has stopped.