Kathy looked at her new room’s white walls. “They’re so plain.” “Don’t worry,” Dad said, “If you don’t like them, we WILL MAKE the walls any colour you like.” “Do you want pink?” Mum suggested. Kathy SHOOK her head. “No, pink is either for BABIES or for silly girls who like Barbie dolls. I’m neither of those.” Her parents smiled but DIDN'T SAY anything. “But what colour to choose? I wish we COULD ask a designer for professional advice,” said Kathy. “Oh, no! It’s out of the question!” said Kathy’s mother, firmly. A designer’s advice is much MORE EXPENSIVE than we can afford.” “Ok. It was just an idea.” “Getting back to the wall colour, why not make your room yellow or orange?” Dad suggested. “When the walls ARE PAINTED in those colours, the room will look cheerful.” “Yes!” Kathy definitely liked the idea. “We’ll make three walls yellow, but the FOURTH one will be orange.” The next day, when Kathy came back from school, her Dad said: “Look what I HAVE BOUGHT.” There were paints and brushes on the floor. “Everything’s ready for us to start.” He smiled and handed Kathy the brush.
Igor, you?
Do you remember me? I'm your classmate. I recognized you for your schizoid words and earrings. And do you remember how we all climbed into a cup in the third class on a sweet tooth? You still drank, licked and asked for supplements. And then your father, the same janitor, came to pick you up
who on Vernadsky raped a dog and received a conditional term for stealing cheese in the store. He went to the classroom, everybody began to laugh, and you rubbed yourself under shame, and then said that you would hate the wizard all his life, but in the 9th grade, when you went to raid, to let them go, they let you circle, after which you put on anus eight stitches.
How are you, Igor?
двадцать - twenty
сорок один - fourty one