TE15 Lithuanian Honey Cake
The question hangs between balconies. Nr. 10 suddenly remembers her “panties”, and turns all of her attention to them. At that point, the scent sequestered in my nose exits and falls onto a dusty car. The inhabitant of the tenth flat, having eased herself of her “panties” burden, suddenly remembers something: “Someone’s now living in the sixth flat. A man!” “How old?” “Sixty.” “And what’s he like?” “He said he would mummify me.” “What???” “I rang his doorbell,” she proudly states, “so that he would sign.” “Congratulations. You’ll soon have your own personal mummy.” I also want a personal mummy. I know three methods of mummification. I would mummify “first class”. I have rubber gloves. I don’t have natron. I’ll need to go to the store for salt, and can’t forget to buy a set of Brazilian knives.
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