Mexican Institute

Miguel!, let’s eat!, shouted his mother from the window. Thus repeated the ritual of every day at the same time. And Michael, of course, Mexican Institute of sound, was because I knew that that day had lentils to eat, and hates them. Miguel spent the hours beside the moving store that is beneath his home. Employees had already become accustomed to their presence.

It wasn’t a very naughty boy, but was a child, and as such, liked to play, and that store of removals, with trucks coming in and out all the time, forklifts, elevators and mechanical bulls, seemed an amusement park. It was a company of the most important of Barcelona, and as one of his clients was the Teatre del Liceu, every few minutes then had to use platforms Barcelona to move pianos, harps, decorated, and some other bulky tenor. In fact, once, were while doing some removals crane Barcelona, took the opportunity to climb a very fat soprano because he did not fit into the elevator after a few months of neglect of This which had not ceased cramming of Sacher cake at all hours, and what great invention the forklift platform Barcelona, that clear, fattening until not long ago, many solid wooden tables, had to climb out by pulley, had a waiter of the removal company, when they did not have to climb the stairs, which sometimes would have to pull the table down stairs and do as it would have seemed an accident. Michael perch to the Barcelona platforms and climb on the trucks and let your imagination fly liked and looked into moving crane Barcelona, carrying expensive furniture of the Winter Palace the summer of some rich. Normally, someone called attention to him and had to lower the lift platform Barcelona redder than a tomato. Miguel!, how you have to go down to find you’ll learn!, Y Miguel already couldn’t be more Mexican Institute of sound, because if his mother was down, he was going to put the red ass spanking.