I live on the fourth floor, a soap window, grassy lawn under the windows and very soft soil. Falling out, in general. While flying, I did not understand anything, I did not see pictures of life.
To her own and general surprise, landing, she stood up, shrugged, tasty and got up home.
The husband who opened the door (he, by the way, fixed the door lock) ran out on me, asking me a hundred times how I passed by him...
In short, the summary: I have a scratch of my back, a couple of scratches and bleaches. The husband has a deep fainting, gray hair, nervous breakdown, tachycardia and a week in the hospital.
Guess who wears the oranges to the hospital?