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Mom Could Face Jail Time for Selling Ceviche Online

Mom Could Face Jail Time for Selling Ceviche Online

Facebook group members were targeted in a secret sting operation

Ceviche consists of raw fish cured in citrus juices.

Mariza Reulas, a single mom of six in San Joaquin County, California, could potentially face jail time for selling homemade ceviche online.

The mother was cited by officials for selling an illegal substance, which in this case was ceviche, according to ABC 13.

Reulas was part of a Facebook group called 209 Food Spot that allows members to share recipes, organize potlucks, and occasionally sell food. The county got word of the group and started an investigation to find those who were selling food without permits. Reulas was targeted in the sting operation with about a dozen others when an undercover investigator requested a plate of ceviche from her last year.

Reulas and other group members were cited with two misdemeanors of operating a food facility and engaging in business, both without permits, ABC 13 reported.

Reulas received a plea deal that would have gotten her three years of probation, but declined the offer to take the case to trial. She now could face up to a year in jail, according to Eater.

Kelly McDaniel, the deputy district attorney for San Joaquin County, told ABC 13 that selling any food not under subject to inspection by the health department puts consumers in danger.


What It Feels Like. to Be a Prison Sex Slave

Soon after coming to Allred prison in Texas, Bret Ramos claimed me as his own. He told me I had two choices: I could submit, or I could die. Thus began my life as a prison sex slave.

What most people don't understand is that rape in prison isn't like it is on the outside. It's not random or chaotic. It's planned and methodical. It's business. The gangs trade amongst themselves to determine who is going to be with whom. And other inmates didn't dare touch me without clearing it first with my owner.

Ramos would rape me once, twice, sometimes three times a day. Then he would force me to clean his cell, make his bed, or cook food for him. Eventually he demanded that I have sex with his friends, who took to calling me "Coco." When a different sex slave was badly beaten for refusing sex, he said the same thing would happen to me if I didn't comply.

When I was finally transferred to a different cell block, I was told by Cliff Brown that he and his gang had "bought" me. That's when the prostitution escalated. They made me perform sex with dozens of other inmates -- white gangs, Mexican gangs, black gangs. Sometimes it was anal. Sometimes oral. Sometimes both. They did it in cells, in the shower, on the stairs. The going rate was five or ten dollars in commissary a fuck. Eventually I was moved to another building. Waiting for me there was La Brigada. At the next building it was the Akin Soldiers. Then the Ivory Kings.

I pleaded with the guards, the warden, and the classification committee time and again for safekeeping. Each time I was met with deaf ears and laughter. They told me that because I was a homosexual, it didn't matter. They told me to "fight or fuck." The rape continued. The prostitution continued. And with it, my shame grew and grew. Eventually I couldn't face the constant humiliation anymore. I was suicidal.

At last, I wrote the ACLU and told them I wanted to kill myself. They flew to the prison and contacted the prison director. And for the first time since my ordeal began eighteen months earlier, I was put in safekeeping.

I was released to a halfway house in December and now live in my own apartment as I try to move my life forward. I'm getting counseling and the medical attention I need. I spend my days working as a youth counselor and hope to start a nonprofit organization. But every day is a struggle. I'm always very aware of my surroundings. I watch my back. I hate crowded rooms. And the nightmares of being raped persist.

Tougher still is the struggle to move past the shame and guilt. Sometimes I blame myself. I think, If I had only listened to my grandmother and stayed out of trouble, I wouldn't have gotten into this. Sometimes I start analyzing the situation, I start looking at the picture from all types of angles, and I start thinking, Why me? Why am I so weak? I just need to move forward.


What It Feels Like. to Be a Prison Sex Slave

Soon after coming to Allred prison in Texas, Bret Ramos claimed me as his own. He told me I had two choices: I could submit, or I could die. Thus began my life as a prison sex slave.

What most people don't understand is that rape in prison isn't like it is on the outside. It's not random or chaotic. It's planned and methodical. It's business. The gangs trade amongst themselves to determine who is going to be with whom. And other inmates didn't dare touch me without clearing it first with my owner.

Ramos would rape me once, twice, sometimes three times a day. Then he would force me to clean his cell, make his bed, or cook food for him. Eventually he demanded that I have sex with his friends, who took to calling me "Coco." When a different sex slave was badly beaten for refusing sex, he said the same thing would happen to me if I didn't comply.

When I was finally transferred to a different cell block, I was told by Cliff Brown that he and his gang had "bought" me. That's when the prostitution escalated. They made me perform sex with dozens of other inmates -- white gangs, Mexican gangs, black gangs. Sometimes it was anal. Sometimes oral. Sometimes both. They did it in cells, in the shower, on the stairs. The going rate was five or ten dollars in commissary a fuck. Eventually I was moved to another building. Waiting for me there was La Brigada. At the next building it was the Akin Soldiers. Then the Ivory Kings.

I pleaded with the guards, the warden, and the classification committee time and again for safekeeping. Each time I was met with deaf ears and laughter. They told me that because I was a homosexual, it didn't matter. They told me to "fight or fuck." The rape continued. The prostitution continued. And with it, my shame grew and grew. Eventually I couldn't face the constant humiliation anymore. I was suicidal.

At last, I wrote the ACLU and told them I wanted to kill myself. They flew to the prison and contacted the prison director. And for the first time since my ordeal began eighteen months earlier, I was put in safekeeping.

I was released to a halfway house in December and now live in my own apartment as I try to move my life forward. I'm getting counseling and the medical attention I need. I spend my days working as a youth counselor and hope to start a nonprofit organization. But every day is a struggle. I'm always very aware of my surroundings. I watch my back. I hate crowded rooms. And the nightmares of being raped persist.

Tougher still is the struggle to move past the shame and guilt. Sometimes I blame myself. I think, If I had only listened to my grandmother and stayed out of trouble, I wouldn't have gotten into this. Sometimes I start analyzing the situation, I start looking at the picture from all types of angles, and I start thinking, Why me? Why am I so weak? I just need to move forward.


What It Feels Like. to Be a Prison Sex Slave

Soon after coming to Allred prison in Texas, Bret Ramos claimed me as his own. He told me I had two choices: I could submit, or I could die. Thus began my life as a prison sex slave.

What most people don't understand is that rape in prison isn't like it is on the outside. It's not random or chaotic. It's planned and methodical. It's business. The gangs trade amongst themselves to determine who is going to be with whom. And other inmates didn't dare touch me without clearing it first with my owner.

Ramos would rape me once, twice, sometimes three times a day. Then he would force me to clean his cell, make his bed, or cook food for him. Eventually he demanded that I have sex with his friends, who took to calling me "Coco." When a different sex slave was badly beaten for refusing sex, he said the same thing would happen to me if I didn't comply.

When I was finally transferred to a different cell block, I was told by Cliff Brown that he and his gang had "bought" me. That's when the prostitution escalated. They made me perform sex with dozens of other inmates -- white gangs, Mexican gangs, black gangs. Sometimes it was anal. Sometimes oral. Sometimes both. They did it in cells, in the shower, on the stairs. The going rate was five or ten dollars in commissary a fuck. Eventually I was moved to another building. Waiting for me there was La Brigada. At the next building it was the Akin Soldiers. Then the Ivory Kings.

I pleaded with the guards, the warden, and the classification committee time and again for safekeeping. Each time I was met with deaf ears and laughter. They told me that because I was a homosexual, it didn't matter. They told me to "fight or fuck." The rape continued. The prostitution continued. And with it, my shame grew and grew. Eventually I couldn't face the constant humiliation anymore. I was suicidal.

At last, I wrote the ACLU and told them I wanted to kill myself. They flew to the prison and contacted the prison director. And for the first time since my ordeal began eighteen months earlier, I was put in safekeeping.

I was released to a halfway house in December and now live in my own apartment as I try to move my life forward. I'm getting counseling and the medical attention I need. I spend my days working as a youth counselor and hope to start a nonprofit organization. But every day is a struggle. I'm always very aware of my surroundings. I watch my back. I hate crowded rooms. And the nightmares of being raped persist.

Tougher still is the struggle to move past the shame and guilt. Sometimes I blame myself. I think, If I had only listened to my grandmother and stayed out of trouble, I wouldn't have gotten into this. Sometimes I start analyzing the situation, I start looking at the picture from all types of angles, and I start thinking, Why me? Why am I so weak? I just need to move forward.


What It Feels Like. to Be a Prison Sex Slave

Soon after coming to Allred prison in Texas, Bret Ramos claimed me as his own. He told me I had two choices: I could submit, or I could die. Thus began my life as a prison sex slave.

What most people don't understand is that rape in prison isn't like it is on the outside. It's not random or chaotic. It's planned and methodical. It's business. The gangs trade amongst themselves to determine who is going to be with whom. And other inmates didn't dare touch me without clearing it first with my owner.

Ramos would rape me once, twice, sometimes three times a day. Then he would force me to clean his cell, make his bed, or cook food for him. Eventually he demanded that I have sex with his friends, who took to calling me "Coco." When a different sex slave was badly beaten for refusing sex, he said the same thing would happen to me if I didn't comply.

When I was finally transferred to a different cell block, I was told by Cliff Brown that he and his gang had "bought" me. That's when the prostitution escalated. They made me perform sex with dozens of other inmates -- white gangs, Mexican gangs, black gangs. Sometimes it was anal. Sometimes oral. Sometimes both. They did it in cells, in the shower, on the stairs. The going rate was five or ten dollars in commissary a fuck. Eventually I was moved to another building. Waiting for me there was La Brigada. At the next building it was the Akin Soldiers. Then the Ivory Kings.

I pleaded with the guards, the warden, and the classification committee time and again for safekeeping. Each time I was met with deaf ears and laughter. They told me that because I was a homosexual, it didn't matter. They told me to "fight or fuck." The rape continued. The prostitution continued. And with it, my shame grew and grew. Eventually I couldn't face the constant humiliation anymore. I was suicidal.

At last, I wrote the ACLU and told them I wanted to kill myself. They flew to the prison and contacted the prison director. And for the first time since my ordeal began eighteen months earlier, I was put in safekeeping.

I was released to a halfway house in December and now live in my own apartment as I try to move my life forward. I'm getting counseling and the medical attention I need. I spend my days working as a youth counselor and hope to start a nonprofit organization. But every day is a struggle. I'm always very aware of my surroundings. I watch my back. I hate crowded rooms. And the nightmares of being raped persist.

Tougher still is the struggle to move past the shame and guilt. Sometimes I blame myself. I think, If I had only listened to my grandmother and stayed out of trouble, I wouldn't have gotten into this. Sometimes I start analyzing the situation, I start looking at the picture from all types of angles, and I start thinking, Why me? Why am I so weak? I just need to move forward.


What It Feels Like. to Be a Prison Sex Slave

Soon after coming to Allred prison in Texas, Bret Ramos claimed me as his own. He told me I had two choices: I could submit, or I could die. Thus began my life as a prison sex slave.

What most people don't understand is that rape in prison isn't like it is on the outside. It's not random or chaotic. It's planned and methodical. It's business. The gangs trade amongst themselves to determine who is going to be with whom. And other inmates didn't dare touch me without clearing it first with my owner.

Ramos would rape me once, twice, sometimes three times a day. Then he would force me to clean his cell, make his bed, or cook food for him. Eventually he demanded that I have sex with his friends, who took to calling me "Coco." When a different sex slave was badly beaten for refusing sex, he said the same thing would happen to me if I didn't comply.

When I was finally transferred to a different cell block, I was told by Cliff Brown that he and his gang had "bought" me. That's when the prostitution escalated. They made me perform sex with dozens of other inmates -- white gangs, Mexican gangs, black gangs. Sometimes it was anal. Sometimes oral. Sometimes both. They did it in cells, in the shower, on the stairs. The going rate was five or ten dollars in commissary a fuck. Eventually I was moved to another building. Waiting for me there was La Brigada. At the next building it was the Akin Soldiers. Then the Ivory Kings.

I pleaded with the guards, the warden, and the classification committee time and again for safekeeping. Each time I was met with deaf ears and laughter. They told me that because I was a homosexual, it didn't matter. They told me to "fight or fuck." The rape continued. The prostitution continued. And with it, my shame grew and grew. Eventually I couldn't face the constant humiliation anymore. I was suicidal.

At last, I wrote the ACLU and told them I wanted to kill myself. They flew to the prison and contacted the prison director. And for the first time since my ordeal began eighteen months earlier, I was put in safekeeping.

I was released to a halfway house in December and now live in my own apartment as I try to move my life forward. I'm getting counseling and the medical attention I need. I spend my days working as a youth counselor and hope to start a nonprofit organization. But every day is a struggle. I'm always very aware of my surroundings. I watch my back. I hate crowded rooms. And the nightmares of being raped persist.

Tougher still is the struggle to move past the shame and guilt. Sometimes I blame myself. I think, If I had only listened to my grandmother and stayed out of trouble, I wouldn't have gotten into this. Sometimes I start analyzing the situation, I start looking at the picture from all types of angles, and I start thinking, Why me? Why am I so weak? I just need to move forward.


What It Feels Like. to Be a Prison Sex Slave

Soon after coming to Allred prison in Texas, Bret Ramos claimed me as his own. He told me I had two choices: I could submit, or I could die. Thus began my life as a prison sex slave.

What most people don't understand is that rape in prison isn't like it is on the outside. It's not random or chaotic. It's planned and methodical. It's business. The gangs trade amongst themselves to determine who is going to be with whom. And other inmates didn't dare touch me without clearing it first with my owner.

Ramos would rape me once, twice, sometimes three times a day. Then he would force me to clean his cell, make his bed, or cook food for him. Eventually he demanded that I have sex with his friends, who took to calling me "Coco." When a different sex slave was badly beaten for refusing sex, he said the same thing would happen to me if I didn't comply.

When I was finally transferred to a different cell block, I was told by Cliff Brown that he and his gang had "bought" me. That's when the prostitution escalated. They made me perform sex with dozens of other inmates -- white gangs, Mexican gangs, black gangs. Sometimes it was anal. Sometimes oral. Sometimes both. They did it in cells, in the shower, on the stairs. The going rate was five or ten dollars in commissary a fuck. Eventually I was moved to another building. Waiting for me there was La Brigada. At the next building it was the Akin Soldiers. Then the Ivory Kings.

I pleaded with the guards, the warden, and the classification committee time and again for safekeeping. Each time I was met with deaf ears and laughter. They told me that because I was a homosexual, it didn't matter. They told me to "fight or fuck." The rape continued. The prostitution continued. And with it, my shame grew and grew. Eventually I couldn't face the constant humiliation anymore. I was suicidal.

At last, I wrote the ACLU and told them I wanted to kill myself. They flew to the prison and contacted the prison director. And for the first time since my ordeal began eighteen months earlier, I was put in safekeeping.

I was released to a halfway house in December and now live in my own apartment as I try to move my life forward. I'm getting counseling and the medical attention I need. I spend my days working as a youth counselor and hope to start a nonprofit organization. But every day is a struggle. I'm always very aware of my surroundings. I watch my back. I hate crowded rooms. And the nightmares of being raped persist.

Tougher still is the struggle to move past the shame and guilt. Sometimes I blame myself. I think, If I had only listened to my grandmother and stayed out of trouble, I wouldn't have gotten into this. Sometimes I start analyzing the situation, I start looking at the picture from all types of angles, and I start thinking, Why me? Why am I so weak? I just need to move forward.


What It Feels Like. to Be a Prison Sex Slave

Soon after coming to Allred prison in Texas, Bret Ramos claimed me as his own. He told me I had two choices: I could submit, or I could die. Thus began my life as a prison sex slave.

What most people don't understand is that rape in prison isn't like it is on the outside. It's not random or chaotic. It's planned and methodical. It's business. The gangs trade amongst themselves to determine who is going to be with whom. And other inmates didn't dare touch me without clearing it first with my owner.

Ramos would rape me once, twice, sometimes three times a day. Then he would force me to clean his cell, make his bed, or cook food for him. Eventually he demanded that I have sex with his friends, who took to calling me "Coco." When a different sex slave was badly beaten for refusing sex, he said the same thing would happen to me if I didn't comply.

When I was finally transferred to a different cell block, I was told by Cliff Brown that he and his gang had "bought" me. That's when the prostitution escalated. They made me perform sex with dozens of other inmates -- white gangs, Mexican gangs, black gangs. Sometimes it was anal. Sometimes oral. Sometimes both. They did it in cells, in the shower, on the stairs. The going rate was five or ten dollars in commissary a fuck. Eventually I was moved to another building. Waiting for me there was La Brigada. At the next building it was the Akin Soldiers. Then the Ivory Kings.

I pleaded with the guards, the warden, and the classification committee time and again for safekeeping. Each time I was met with deaf ears and laughter. They told me that because I was a homosexual, it didn't matter. They told me to "fight or fuck." The rape continued. The prostitution continued. And with it, my shame grew and grew. Eventually I couldn't face the constant humiliation anymore. I was suicidal.

At last, I wrote the ACLU and told them I wanted to kill myself. They flew to the prison and contacted the prison director. And for the first time since my ordeal began eighteen months earlier, I was put in safekeeping.

I was released to a halfway house in December and now live in my own apartment as I try to move my life forward. I'm getting counseling and the medical attention I need. I spend my days working as a youth counselor and hope to start a nonprofit organization. But every day is a struggle. I'm always very aware of my surroundings. I watch my back. I hate crowded rooms. And the nightmares of being raped persist.

Tougher still is the struggle to move past the shame and guilt. Sometimes I blame myself. I think, If I had only listened to my grandmother and stayed out of trouble, I wouldn't have gotten into this. Sometimes I start analyzing the situation, I start looking at the picture from all types of angles, and I start thinking, Why me? Why am I so weak? I just need to move forward.


What It Feels Like. to Be a Prison Sex Slave

Soon after coming to Allred prison in Texas, Bret Ramos claimed me as his own. He told me I had two choices: I could submit, or I could die. Thus began my life as a prison sex slave.

What most people don't understand is that rape in prison isn't like it is on the outside. It's not random or chaotic. It's planned and methodical. It's business. The gangs trade amongst themselves to determine who is going to be with whom. And other inmates didn't dare touch me without clearing it first with my owner.

Ramos would rape me once, twice, sometimes three times a day. Then he would force me to clean his cell, make his bed, or cook food for him. Eventually he demanded that I have sex with his friends, who took to calling me "Coco." When a different sex slave was badly beaten for refusing sex, he said the same thing would happen to me if I didn't comply.

When I was finally transferred to a different cell block, I was told by Cliff Brown that he and his gang had "bought" me. That's when the prostitution escalated. They made me perform sex with dozens of other inmates -- white gangs, Mexican gangs, black gangs. Sometimes it was anal. Sometimes oral. Sometimes both. They did it in cells, in the shower, on the stairs. The going rate was five or ten dollars in commissary a fuck. Eventually I was moved to another building. Waiting for me there was La Brigada. At the next building it was the Akin Soldiers. Then the Ivory Kings.

I pleaded with the guards, the warden, and the classification committee time and again for safekeeping. Each time I was met with deaf ears and laughter. They told me that because I was a homosexual, it didn't matter. They told me to "fight or fuck." The rape continued. The prostitution continued. And with it, my shame grew and grew. Eventually I couldn't face the constant humiliation anymore. I was suicidal.

At last, I wrote the ACLU and told them I wanted to kill myself. They flew to the prison and contacted the prison director. And for the first time since my ordeal began eighteen months earlier, I was put in safekeeping.

I was released to a halfway house in December and now live in my own apartment as I try to move my life forward. I'm getting counseling and the medical attention I need. I spend my days working as a youth counselor and hope to start a nonprofit organization. But every day is a struggle. I'm always very aware of my surroundings. I watch my back. I hate crowded rooms. And the nightmares of being raped persist.

Tougher still is the struggle to move past the shame and guilt. Sometimes I blame myself. I think, If I had only listened to my grandmother and stayed out of trouble, I wouldn't have gotten into this. Sometimes I start analyzing the situation, I start looking at the picture from all types of angles, and I start thinking, Why me? Why am I so weak? I just need to move forward.


What It Feels Like. to Be a Prison Sex Slave

Soon after coming to Allred prison in Texas, Bret Ramos claimed me as his own. He told me I had two choices: I could submit, or I could die. Thus began my life as a prison sex slave.

What most people don't understand is that rape in prison isn't like it is on the outside. It's not random or chaotic. It's planned and methodical. It's business. The gangs trade amongst themselves to determine who is going to be with whom. And other inmates didn't dare touch me without clearing it first with my owner.

Ramos would rape me once, twice, sometimes three times a day. Then he would force me to clean his cell, make his bed, or cook food for him. Eventually he demanded that I have sex with his friends, who took to calling me "Coco." When a different sex slave was badly beaten for refusing sex, he said the same thing would happen to me if I didn't comply.

When I was finally transferred to a different cell block, I was told by Cliff Brown that he and his gang had "bought" me. That's when the prostitution escalated. They made me perform sex with dozens of other inmates -- white gangs, Mexican gangs, black gangs. Sometimes it was anal. Sometimes oral. Sometimes both. They did it in cells, in the shower, on the stairs. The going rate was five or ten dollars in commissary a fuck. Eventually I was moved to another building. Waiting for me there was La Brigada. At the next building it was the Akin Soldiers. Then the Ivory Kings.

I pleaded with the guards, the warden, and the classification committee time and again for safekeeping. Each time I was met with deaf ears and laughter. They told me that because I was a homosexual, it didn't matter. They told me to "fight or fuck." The rape continued. The prostitution continued. And with it, my shame grew and grew. Eventually I couldn't face the constant humiliation anymore. I was suicidal.

At last, I wrote the ACLU and told them I wanted to kill myself. They flew to the prison and contacted the prison director. And for the first time since my ordeal began eighteen months earlier, I was put in safekeeping.

I was released to a halfway house in December and now live in my own apartment as I try to move my life forward. I'm getting counseling and the medical attention I need. I spend my days working as a youth counselor and hope to start a nonprofit organization. But every day is a struggle. I'm always very aware of my surroundings. I watch my back. I hate crowded rooms. And the nightmares of being raped persist.

Tougher still is the struggle to move past the shame and guilt. Sometimes I blame myself. I think, If I had only listened to my grandmother and stayed out of trouble, I wouldn't have gotten into this. Sometimes I start analyzing the situation, I start looking at the picture from all types of angles, and I start thinking, Why me? Why am I so weak? I just need to move forward.


What It Feels Like. to Be a Prison Sex Slave

Soon after coming to Allred prison in Texas, Bret Ramos claimed me as his own. He told me I had two choices: I could submit, or I could die. Thus began my life as a prison sex slave.

What most people don't understand is that rape in prison isn't like it is on the outside. It's not random or chaotic. It's planned and methodical. It's business. The gangs trade amongst themselves to determine who is going to be with whom. And other inmates didn't dare touch me without clearing it first with my owner.

Ramos would rape me once, twice, sometimes three times a day. Then he would force me to clean his cell, make his bed, or cook food for him. Eventually he demanded that I have sex with his friends, who took to calling me "Coco." When a different sex slave was badly beaten for refusing sex, he said the same thing would happen to me if I didn't comply.

When I was finally transferred to a different cell block, I was told by Cliff Brown that he and his gang had "bought" me. That's when the prostitution escalated. They made me perform sex with dozens of other inmates -- white gangs, Mexican gangs, black gangs. Sometimes it was anal. Sometimes oral. Sometimes both. They did it in cells, in the shower, on the stairs. The going rate was five or ten dollars in commissary a fuck. Eventually I was moved to another building. Waiting for me there was La Brigada. At the next building it was the Akin Soldiers. Then the Ivory Kings.

I pleaded with the guards, the warden, and the classification committee time and again for safekeeping. Each time I was met with deaf ears and laughter. They told me that because I was a homosexual, it didn't matter. They told me to "fight or fuck." The rape continued. The prostitution continued. And with it, my shame grew and grew. Eventually I couldn't face the constant humiliation anymore. I was suicidal.

At last, I wrote the ACLU and told them I wanted to kill myself. They flew to the prison and contacted the prison director. And for the first time since my ordeal began eighteen months earlier, I was put in safekeeping.

I was released to a halfway house in December and now live in my own apartment as I try to move my life forward. I'm getting counseling and the medical attention I need. I spend my days working as a youth counselor and hope to start a nonprofit organization. But every day is a struggle. I'm always very aware of my surroundings. I watch my back. I hate crowded rooms. And the nightmares of being raped persist.

Tougher still is the struggle to move past the shame and guilt. Sometimes I blame myself. I think, If I had only listened to my grandmother and stayed out of trouble, I wouldn't have gotten into this. Sometimes I start analyzing the situation, I start looking at the picture from all types of angles, and I start thinking, Why me? Why am I so weak? I just need to move forward.


Watch the video: Το σατανικό ζευγάρι: Το έγκλημα του Παγκρατίου που απασχόλησε για καιρό την κοινή γνώμη! (October 2021).