hat most erted
pirosbicikli üzenete:
te mer nem a varban baszol
BaT üzenete:
mert reggel 7kor kaptam egy sms-t hogy aludjak vissza nyugodtan.
BaT üzenete:
hat most erted visszacsuktam a telefont és aludtam tovább
BaT üzenete:
nagyon nem zavart
He could feel them among the trees. The homeless. The hungry. The silent people. Those forsaken by men and gods. The people of the mists and mud, whose only strenght was somewhere on the other side of weakness, whose beliefs were as rickety and home-made as their homes. And the people from the city – not the ones who lived in the big white houses and went to balls in fine coaches, but the other ones. They were the ones that stories are never about. Stories are not, on the whole, interested in swineherds who remain swineherds and poor and humble shoemakers whose destiny is to die slightly poorer and much humbler.
These people were the ones who made the magical kingdom work, who cooked its meals and swept its floors and carted its night soil and were its faces in the crowd and whose wishes and dreams, undemanding as they were, were of no consequence.
The invisibles.
amikor a ferfi megmerettetik
baratsagos rangado ember, orvos es szerv kozott penteken 10 orakor
ha nincs post par napig akkor az tortent amire mindenki gondolt amikor meglatta a kepet
