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Inese Jurisa jau labu laiku nesodīti uzdzīvo citu dzīvēs
Ineses neprofisionalitātes dēļ cieta bērns un tika atņemts īpašums slimama vecam cilvēkam
Inese Jurisa jau labu laiku nesodīti uzdzīvo citu dzīvēs - Ineses neprofisionalitātes dēļ cieta bērns un tika atņemts īpašums slimama vecam cilvēkam
Esmu liecinieks divām situācijām. Ineses neprofesionalitātes dēļ cieta bērns un tika atņemts īpašums vecam cilvēkam, kur tika sagrozīti papīri. Slimam un vecam cilvēkam tika atņemtas mājas (cietsirdīgi un nepamatoti, mantkārības dēļ) un tas viss tika panākts ar Ineses Jurisas palīdzību. Un par to nekas šim cilvēkam, jo viss tika apklusināts un noslēpts. Bet visu nenoslēpt!
Komentāri (3)
Inese Jurisa ir posts. Izkatās, ka šī krāpniecr ir tuvu tam, lai bāktu viss atpakaļ!
Fuj 🤮 Inese Jurisa - spēlmane, liekule, mele. Vienvārdsakot aptīs ap pirkstu, ka pat nemanīsi. Ar naudu un brāli atkal piesegta tika?
stories: something strange, warped even. Each tale had its own
internal logic, but the link from one to the next was odd. Before you
knew it, story A had turned into story B, which had been contained in
A, and then came C from something in B, with no end in sight. I found
things to say in response at first, but after a while I stopped trying. I
put on a record, and when it ended I lifted the needle and put on
another. After the last record I went back to the first. She only had six.
The cycle started with Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band and
ended with Bill Evans' Waltz for Debbie. Rain fell past the window.
Time moved slowly. Naoko went on talking by herself.
It eventually dawned on me what was wrong: Naoko was taking great
care as she spoke not to touch on certain things. One of those things
was Kizuki, of course, but there was more than Kizuki. And though
she had certain subjects she was determined to avoid, she went on
endlessly and in incredible detail about the most trivial, inane things. I
had never heard her speak with such intensity before, and so I did not
interrupt her.
Once the clock struck eleven, though, I began to feel nervous. She had
been talking non-stop for more than four hours. I had to worry about
the last train, and my midnight curfew. I saw my chance and cut in.
"Time for the troops to go home," I said, looking at my watch. "Last
train's coming."
My words did not seem to reach her. Or, if they did, she was unable to
grasp their meaning. She clamped her mouth shut for a split second,
then went on with her story. I gave up and, shifting to a more
comfortable position, drank what was left of the second bottle of wine.
I thought I had better let her talk herself out. The curfew and the last
train would have to take care of themselves.
She did not go on for long, though. Before I knew it, she had stopped
talking. The ragged end of the last word she spoke seemed to float in
the air, where it had been torn off. She had not actually finished what
she was saying. Her words had simply evaporated. She had been