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happy birthday bhabhi ji images. Yesterday held the last lecture. Now I have time. Much time. Vacation time, reading time. Finally bought a book for pure entertainment: Franz Kafka. A reading book with pictures. Today it was horribly hot again. Like the last days. Like the last few weeks. The weather frogs have confirmed it: June was the hottest for more than a hundred years. And July, apart from a few days, is a pain. But this year the summer of February started here. For half a year: sun, sun, sun. Almost every day sun.
happy birthday bhabhi ji images. If there was talk in the weather report that violent storms had caused millions of dollars in other parts of the republic, we could only shake our heads here with a surprise. Rain is absolute shortage. Now the news has been reported in the news about the persistent drought. But for today the weather prophets have promised violent thunderstorms. https://fb.me/HSZdMa8M I sit in the garden, which reminds me so slowly of the Gobi desert. Reading Kafka's "hungarian artist". When I bought the book at noon, the sun burned from the sky. Now it is becoming increasingly sultry. The sky has grown. In the distance a dark rumbling. Thank God, a thunderstorm. But no, just a motorcycle. So go on hunger artist.
happy birthday bhabhi ji images. There, at the extreme edge of the field of vision, silent movement. Dimly. Ah, it's one of the neighbor's cats. The white with the black spots. Silently, slowly, smoothly, she moves to the tree trunk. She stretched out on the trunk, the hind legs long, the back deeply bent, the front legs extended far. Sharp claws bite into the bark. Scratching sounds up to me. Then she looks at me. Long. Urgently. Immobile. Take three, four, five steps carefully. Their gaze is fixed on the ground, and remain there. In front of her lies a dead mouse. Still quite fresh. Well-groomed fur, healthy and strong. But the flies are already teeming on the dead animal. Large, thick, green shining flyflies.
happy birthday bhabhi ji images. How many are they? Six, seven, eight. No, counting does not work. They are constantly in motion. Small air war between two, then there are four or five, which are buzzing to each other. Immediately apart again. The cat is little impressed by the green shining tangle and the lifeless gray coat. Silently she creeps into the bushes. Why did not she want to know about the mouse? Did she kill her herself? Or was it the other neighbor's cat, the dark, gray-pied? Or the snow-white ones, which are rarely seen in this area? As I pondered my thoughts, the sky continued to darken. So there is hope.
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