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Success stories XIX.

Success stories XIX.



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"I've never traveled on the forest rail." Yeah! On one hand the lyrics are not so, on the other hand the statement is not true.

In my family (not the stuffed, crammed, powdered, sugared marmalade, but the flowering plant of the Kernyin dynasty), as far as the eye is concerned, it is a matter of duty. I, myself, absorbed the love of iron with breast milk (freshly milked exactly, boiled cow's milk - psst!), I didn't really understand why I was blown away from the sunbath. Is it any wonder that our Lurkans also have a keen interest in all the devices that carry them?
Small Scores 1
There's a ferry train to get there at the Railway Park. Whoop!
- Dad, but what about Tomasz?
"Uh ... yeah, you went to work on Sodor Island, but look how cool (just don't stick to the costume!) A locomotive is here!" Really hot!
- But Jin Jamst, ah!
"Baby, those locomotives are in the tale, but these lovely black-and-black machines are real." (Help! Somebody bring me two weavers to paint in red! That the BBC did not have the ability to compose tales of nice pitch locomotives!)
- Dad, put up a whore for the little cell, huh?
Yes! It's like Ian Thorpe's world record: indomitable. No mistake, there is nothing wrong with the little baby girl figured out for the kids, they just need to be born out of a certain age and cardigan size. Well, this is exciting. The phenomenon is largely described by the fact that a person will hold a superb Rocket-type dust bag at home, and it will drape over it, or, say, in once-in-a-lifetime fireworks. (Sensation is similar!) Success is tremendous as far as mania is concerned (not to mention the rest of the park). My father gave me a shot somewhere on a "Magilla Gorilla motor" and a "monkey on the middle" in between. In addition, Zsoma undergoes an extraordinary transformation to the end of the thread, namely, you cannot unhook your hands and your feet are unwilling to obey as much as you want. Nothing to do, it's a turn.
Small Bats 2
The good priest is dead, and the griever is not studying in his own right, so the other day we set out for a good little forest railroad. Hastily цsszekapkodtunk a valуt small tнzуraira warm sweater against the cold, vбltбs ruhбt warm esetйre, cserecipхt, cserezoknit, small motors to visszatйrйshez, biztonsбgi tartalйk pelenkбt, tцrlхkendхt, innivalуt, ъgyhogy soon megйrdeklхdtem, web link to bцrzsцnyi kiruccanбshoz free serpбt but termйszetjбrу szцvetsйgnйl eltanбcsoltak . I was a bit afraid that we would need an outside freight wagon for our stuff, but we were finally able to find a way to survive. (A concrete slab that had been vaccinated into a quartz would have had more confidence than our "locomotive", not to mention the passenger's wobbly and dripping.) (By the end of the five kilometers, the journey time is about half that.)
- Daddy, that bitch is a ham-pancake?
- No, no, Weak, so warm, quieter! That's just the song, it's the guide.
- But what about your hand?
- Weak, so heartfelt, don't yell! Otherwise, it's not calming, but "Come on!" gives a signal to the driver. (Just to get something done from my own childhood.)
Now it shows "Get going!"
- But have we stopped it now?
- Because that's the end. You know, "Come on, talk, here's the train!"
- But let's move on!
- My enamel, you have no more, the train can't go on.
- But GO!
(I think the Wild West heroes wouldn't have even had the opportunity to build a railroad to the Pacific, only a three-year-old twin couple might have boarded the train.)