Neighbor boy working on the flute all day

I'd like to take his flute and feed it to him. which I suppose wouldn't be that hard; because his flute was a helvacioglu brand. I'd like to take it apart and feed it to him by pushing it down his throat with a cleaning stick.

because whenever this neighbor boy was bored, he would play the flute. I'm not saying it would ring, look, it really "worked". And I listened to Ilgaz Anatolia's, "You are a lofty mountain", over the years, one floor above it. While super dad's music remained a nostalgic and pleasant memory for the nation, it made me nervous and stressed.

I was even able to understand when the inside of your flute was filled with saliva, from that wet, flattened and uncontrolled shift of your voice...

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