Out of season, a small road story. Stride slowly on a viscous, not for the winter wet and loose way. With irritation slap the soles of his boots on the snow limp. Bold, large spray flying from my spanking far different directions. I do not pay them for their attention. The road is empty. Besides from me on it no one else. Who else wants to test himself at night during winter in this godforsaken road.
Sadomasochism in my hand, ordinary mockery. Not of great joy I put myself in such torment. Away from the busy highway road out of fuel in my car. Appeared in front of the lights. Village or village.
I go there with the hope to help me. That's the end of village. The first five houses scare me with their views. It seems that they long ago abandoned. Neglect, if not ruin gives them. In the sixth house parked car. rm=.e98c7ec30109’>Secretary of Agriculture, who has experience with these questions. It may be, and for me. Who could refuse such a while in trouble for the driver. Kolocha at the door. Not only refused, but also sent. Sent not for fuel. Far beyond that. And a second home as a car. Knock at his door at home, this time with less hope. And here sent, but a closer look. Miles in six gas station is located. There and solve all my problems. And on this thank you. Click Randall Mays to learn more. That's another house. Dilapidated and old, but the windows lit the light. What can help me here? And if. Koloch in these windows. The bright-eyed old man out of the crib, where a number of pig rusty old 'Moskvich', dragged me to a can of gasoline. His grandmother treats me with tea and homemade cherry jam. Scrumptious in her tea. Not from tea bags. C herbs. Causes of dry Shoed warm boots, before it was kind of my feet warm knitted socks. Our neighbors? And what we are neighbors. They are from the regional city. The village came only on weekends. Rural, has its and almost does not remain here.