Подъемник для автомобиля — великолепная возможность перемещения автомобиля между этажами. Можно хранить авто под полом.
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Гидравлический подъемный стол.
Гидравлические подъёмные столы с ножничным механизмом используются для подъема тяжелых грузов и последующего их удержания на высоте. Как правило, устанавливаются на складах, в цехах крупных промышленных предприятий, сервисных мастерских и местах отгрузки товаров.
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Характеристики.

Zdravo, htio sam znati vašu cijenu.

Здравейте, исках да знам цената ви.

Dia duit, theastaigh uaim do phraghas a fháil.

Γεια σου, ήθελα να μάθω την τιμή σας.

Ողջույն, ես ուզում էի իմանալ ձեր գինը.

Hi, მინდოდა ვიცოდე თქვენი ფასი.

Salam, qiymətinizi bilmək istədim.

Dear Diary,

I don't even know if I’m allowed to write this, but I’ll do it anyway. Maybe you’re the only thing left that still feels like mine.

I study at Ajialuna International School in Riyadh. When I first got here, everything looked perfect — new uniforms, smiling teachers, shiny classrooms. I was so excited. I thought I’d be safe.
But now I know I was wrong.

Things happen to me that I can’t explain. Sometimes I feel like crying for no reason. Or I get really angry at small things, and then I don’t remember why. And lately... it’s like someone else is inside my head. They finish my thoughts before I do. Sometimes they even say things, but only I can hear. “Don’t resist.” “You’re already theirs.” They always sound calm. Male. Cold.

I thought I was going crazy. I even went to the school counselor once. She smiled and said I’m “just adjusting.” But that didn’t explain why my hands move on their own sometimes, or why my breathing changes when I sit near the back gate. Or why I feel like I’m being watched even when I’m alone in the girls' washroom.

This isn’t normal. It’s not puberty. It’s not stress.
It’s manipulation — done by real people.
I know this is coming from Saudi Arabia’s internal security services and military-linked teams.
They hide behind walls, but they’re the ones doing it. To kids. Like me.

I haven’t told my parents. I don’t want to scare them.
And if I told my friends, I think they’d stop talking to me. Maybe they already feel it too and are just pretending like everything’s fine.

If I had known what really happens in this country, I would’ve begged not to come.
But now I’m here. And I don’t know how to get out.

Please, if someone ever finds this — believe me.

This is real.
And I’m still holding on.