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Friday, April 30, 2010
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Information Basicthe Shark
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CU "TEA TIME"
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Descriptions: UC
3 pack of variable size and 300 dpi
papers in 3600x3600 and 300 dpi
CU "TEA TIME"
CU "ATLANTIS"
CU "OCEAN"
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
How To Use Slide Transitions In Easyworship
First Award!
First Award!
I'm really glad I got my first award!
is my girlfriend
CESSPAV
which has awarded me, thank you my lovely! (click on their name to visit his blog!)
Rules / Rules
1. Say "thank you" to the person who gave you this award.
Say "thank you" to the Person Who Gave this award
2. Provide a link to your blog from which you have received this award.
Give a link to your blog from Who you got this award.
3. Place images of the sentence in your blog.
Place the pictures Of The award in your blog
4. Give this award to 10 other blogs.
Give this award to Another 10 blogs
5. Add links to them.
Add links to 'em
6. Send your comments on candidates for all the blogs you have chosen.
Send comments about The nominees to all Blogs That You thing
So, as is the rule, I awarded Now this nice reward:
do the same with your bloginettes
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Naughty Softball Players
32. Xavier Biffle Departure
Joell surprised that we do not know what a Biffle. He launches into a monologue approximate to explain a sexual practice that is much more common than previously believed, which is to slap someone, but not in any way.
With -dick, announces he said proudly.
A childish smile on his face is drawn weathered, and my two friends back at me with accusing eyes. I still do pushups for not having to justify anything.
Joell, continues her stories of road, and Vincent pretends to be interested. Xavier him, sits beside me and watching me complete my series of exercises. A bit bewildered, I flaps on the abdominal with loud groans to indicate that this is not the best time for a conversation.
"I happen not to believe that you put this even jog," he sighs.
I caught my breath a few seconds, and begins to pump air appalled despite Xavier. I will spend the day doing weight training if necessary. And then I can reflect on how best to fight.
Vincent, escaping the blathering of the Swiss road, throws me what I do is useless, I do not muscled, and he takes my jogging as an insult to everything that is beautiful. Xavier points out that he took a little belly, but not to defend myself. It's just that Xavier leaves no margin for error, and is among others why he does not miss an opportunity to remind me that it was I who brought to Joell the apartment.
-It is not know, man, I murmured to himself.
"He helped me, so I help, I said, stopping my shoes. It's as simple as that.
We are the desperate, those who live on the edge of precipices and struggling against any risk of error. I smiled at Xavier, who asked me to be less stupid. And when I start to do push-ups, my arms and I let go I bang my head on the ground, covered in sweat.
There is nobody for you here. Everything is against you and nobody can help. It's the same crap to everyone, then we must fight harder.
I hear Joell vaguely ask if Vincent is of course that's not him who wrote on my blog since it went on TV in posing for me. The mustachioed denies contempt, saying he probably would write less conventional texts.
-On gets lost, finds the road with a gloomy voice. I can not understand is that Irving Rutherford.
Us either, Vincent replied, looking at me catch my breath.
It's been quite a few hours I stopped my exercise and my hands shake yet. But it's probably because Xavier risk getting fleeced on this one. I raise some green chips which I have forgotten the value and takes a long drag on his cigarette with a theatrical air. Vincent looks at his cards, chips and sticks to Xavier, squinting with the same theatrical air. The worst is that it works because I'm lying.
Joell really sweats a lot. He contemplates the pile of green chips on the table as if she concealed the hidden mysteries. I want to say that in any money has no value at the time it is.
Vincent made a joke about the Swiss, thinking put at ease. Joell gently caress his belly, and Xavier is in turn a joke about constipation. I explain to the road to reassure him that it sends in its mouth all day, that's how it works, and if we do that with him is that we love well.
-Unless it corrects Xavier pointing to me. It is not love.
I gratify my friend the finger, and Joell encouraged to play. The latter looks at his watch, like how long it agrees to think again. Beads of sweat dripping on his forehead extra, which is already congested.
"It is the game guy, impatient Vincent.
"It is nearly done," Joel whispered.
The mustachioed raises an eyebrow and wondering eyes. I shrug my shoulders while Joell pushes his cards before him, looking at his watch. It has a low voice, shaking his head as if to deny the evidence of time passing.
"I will not be able," he starts repeating in a low voice, like a litany. I advised him to calm down and reminds him that he went to bed at this turn and has no reason to freak out. But he continues to rub his belly frantically, and Xavier looks to the party to ask if he needs medication or a drink.
Joel jumps up, knocking his chair. He yells "I can not," and transfers a sort of little box he hid under his shirt for him down in his pants. He sings "This is the precious treasure," before folding in half.
The box he hid in his pants exploded, but his body made dam. The blast destroys the chip stack, and blood is splashing the table. The Swiss collapses into a groan of pain, holding the crotch to try to stop the waves of blood that gush.
Stunned, we get up without really knowing how to react. The bomb was not very powerful, but my ears whistle and obscure my perception of the situation.
"I'm sorry, Joell dying. They forced me, I had no choice.
Again and again Irving Rutherford. I knew way back to Paris I would have to fight. I never imagined that the fight would be as vicious.
Joell utters a last gasp, clinging to his lack of genitals. Shocked and confused, we see no tears at the death of the assassin who finally changed his mind. Because if there's one thing that Xavier has managed to get into the head, is that people never have an excuse.
The whistle fades from my ears, my arms and tremble less. I think the worst part is that you get used to violence.
Slowly, Xavier kneels and begins to unbutton his fly. As an undead, he sticks a Biffle on the face of the road, wearily. A strange fate emerges from the scene, which looks more like a prerequisite to an accident of life.
Xavier puts his sex without a word. We are the poor, those who know the misery and harden to survive. We defend ourselves with the means at hand, and most of the time we simply rely on luck.
I do not skimp on the big scotch, and the more firmly fixed than I can a broomstick between two chimneys. Xavier, without looking back at me, warning me that it will never stay. Vincent and her lit cigarette while contemplating the sleepy capital. The roof on which we are not very high, but we guess all The same few buildings on fire to the city center. Actually, now that the street lights do not work anymore, it no longer sees it.
I finished my small installation, emptying the roll of adhesive. Something in the attitude of my friends talking to me, despite the fact that they stand back to me. I distinguish their actions calculated, and the calmness with which they are sitting on the ledge, feet dangling, the cigarette smoke on the roof has become a habit. And unfortunately that every day they have a little less afraid of heights.
I grab the stick firmly, and began a series of pulls. The chimneys are low, and my knees touch the ground every time I go down. After the third lift, my bar training craft breaks, and I am a small waterfall. But the roof is not very steep, and I easily caught up with another fireplace.
Xavier did not comment, but Vincent has a tired smile. I'll sit beside them and turns me on a cigarette in my lap, a little fearful of the void.
The city burns quietly, and we take a little height. The lack of street lighting is probably why people turn on the traffic lights. I wonder if our president shit in his pants in a bunker by now.
I try to color this time of sadness. I am looking for poetry at all costs, at night, in silence. But the truth is that I see less beauty around me right now. And I'm not nostalgic for France before, but then not really.
I get up the ledge, feeling that he is still a little early to trust the vacuum as do my friends. I'm walking on the roof, kicking the debris of the broomstick, which tumbled from the roof and go crashing into the deserted street. In fact I try to color this time of anger, failing melancholy.
"I think there was a metal bar to your chin, Vincent whispers to me nonchalantly.
-I will see it tomorrow. Jumped?
Xavier and his nodding silently. Enveloped by the cool night, we remain motionless for several moments, refusing to submit to a decision we have taken ourselves. We save every second that separates us back to the apartment, because we know what awaits us: Duties, violent life, and a body without genitals.
Note: No one wants to read you after that
Soon Vincent is struggling to carry heavy things
Monday, April 26, 2010
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Infinity Euro Sport Elipitcal
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How To Find A Gloryhole
Moment of Eternity
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Sunday, April 25, 2010
Pokemon Emerald Working Cheats
I'm going abroad tomorrow for a few weeks. In my absence, my friend Vincent, who will post my news. They are written by me (I have taken the lead), but I am no longer here to answer your questions and comments. I'll be back mid May
soon on the blog.
Irving
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
How To Roll A Neckerchif
31. Irving
"" I think I regret the time I just had to die goblins. Since
the forces of evil had swept the four kingdoms of Ragnar, Paxton Fettel felt both motivated and overtaken by events. Time dungeons and hunts trolls now belonged to history. His faithful companion
Morgados he remarked that he had assailed an ogre there just two days after that. But Paxton sky was filled with dragons invincible. His sword was not so honed, and the best sharpeners had perished in the fire of Samarkand.
"What do you want to face a dragon? Paxton whimpered.
-Surviving is not bad. It is their feet. Be
Knight at this time fell almost unconscious. For armor melt under the hot breath of the giant lizards, and swords just flay their scales. Basically it was useless to hide its face, Paxton Fettel might be eaten even before he took out his weapon from its scabbard.
-In the best case, he quipped, all I can do is slow down a dragon not too huge for two minutes.
-Two minutes is already something, "said Morgados. "
Joell lays the leaves and I noted that it is a bit low for an end of chapter. He puts the text on the back seat, and Roger there ready not careful. I request him if he does not jump start to make me happy.
"I know why you keep your fucking winter coat," he said, pulling on my hood.
-No you do not know. I
flaps on Joell conversation, which is not very rich. He tells me he thinks I am glad now when I say I am Irving Rutherford. I sigh and focus on the road, long and monotonous. He added that he never knows when I write about me or not, and anyway I prefer when he recounts the adventures of my friends.
-How it is called now, the ninja?
Xavier.
No, it's not him. It's ... Vincent. No?
Vincent is another.
I do not know if it was the public that it deserves. To please Roger, I questioned him on his mission, and the future of which it comes. Still distant, he explains laboriously that the world which he has probably never exist. Not since I accidentally created an evil twin.
Irving Rutherford disrupts the equation, "he summarizes. It is not just a history of literature.
It was never a question of literature. Paris is close now, and I do not know exactly what type of fight we're going to lead. But I have more on my Kalashnikov in the trunk on my lazy prose.
A stray bullet just burst a tire of the car, which swerved as I do not control. I miss driving hours. The vehicle overturned a revolutionary armed with a submachine gun, which strikes our windshield and pass through. Roger yells from the backseat, while Joell gives great nudge to our riding for him to drop his weapon. Myself and I cry like a little girl when the car fits into a lamppost.
head pushed into the airbag, I tell myself that at least we got to Paris.
off my belt and I go out of my vehicle to run to safety, notifying to my accomplices to follow me. I street behind a truck, avoiding the bullets whistling, without looking back. Congratulations, you've got you just planted between the revolutionaries and the army.
Shouts and cries echo hollow points his nose above the noise bursts. It is full of rage that would have once terrorized. The walls of the Haussmann buildings are riddled with bullet holes that look old. Paris is Paris.
I turned towards the car and observed Joell struggling with the lifeless body of revolution. Roger, it has simply disappeared. I signaled to the road to join me at the shelter, and after a short time of hesitation, he rushes to join me.
It's a miracle, given as it crawls, it arrives to me unharmed. He panted like a seal, while the revolutionaries began to chant hymns of their own, in some military scrubs. But they are better equipped, and the response is terrible.
A squadron of smoke grenades flying over the street, obscuring everything in its path. The roar of an armored vehicle covers for a moment the sound of gunfire, and a deathly silence settles for a few seconds, disturbed by the crackling of broken glass crushed under the tracks of the craft demonic.
I ask where is Joell Roger passed this asshole.
-Who?
I drop and my eyes misty seeking a way out. The two forces will never stop advancing toward one another, and none seems determined to let go of the land. I'm just in the middle.
Roger had to find a way out of everything. I inspect the doors of buildings quickly, and finds one ajar a little further exposed.
The street is filled with smoke, and I do not see that coming rocket strikes the armored vehicle. The military orders shouted in every direction, as if the discipline was going to save their lives. The rioters are content to cry joy.
Some climb on cars, full of joy, before they rush to their opponents. Several were killed by gusts before they made ten meters. Joel and I get run like a fool to the door I saw. The road crying like a child.
I shoot almost inside the building and shut the door behind us. He collapses on the floor and moans incoherently. I probably would have let the Swiss border.
"You're with them," he stutters.
I am with someone, Joell.
"You're in the street with them.
A discharge passes between my two ears, and I bite the tongue. Driven by an uncontrollable urge, I open the door to take a look at the street. That's my biggest mistake of the day.
Irving Rutherford is standing on a car among the revolutionaries. He brandished a pistol gesturing toward the military. With a certain majesty, he descends from his perch and advance towards the enemy while walking down the weapon, with a confidence that scares a little fellow.
I personally find that he tells it a little. I grab a stone floor, and without thinking, I throw it at him hoping that he makes him swallow his smile. But I've never been fucked to aim properly, and my shot the lack of a good meter.
Irving turns to me and I decipher a mixture of anger, surprise and weariness in his eyes reptilian. His mouth drooling flames that consume me if I did not take station. I found my dragon.
I rushed towards the car which I came, dancing with gusts through the smoke. Some grenades are flying in jets and disperse lethal in both camps, which are now really close. I do not have much time. I open hastily
the trunk of the car, and lifts the cloth that covers the machine gun. I get a charger, and try to make it fit in the socket. But the gun is still also seized, and my fingers are trembling too. Irving
background on me with a terrible slowness. The sun is shining up his scales. He walks up to me, impervious to chaos, as sure of his power, while I busy myself to charge my Kalashnikov. He raises his gun towards me and smiled, revealing a row of fangs. I blame my stupidity with reason for coming back to do shit. "I've slowed
two minutes," I whispered. Even not-
. Its claws
press the trigger. The gun goes off at close range, and I stay up a split second, as if suspended by the sheer force of will. Then it's as if I sank about myself. Bend my legs and my back is bent, and I collapse on the ground quietly and without rancor.
When I open my eyes, night has fallen. The street is deserted, and I'm a corpse, among others. My chest hurts a dog, and I sat down heavily. When I search my pockets, I realize that my cigarettes have disappeared.
I take the bullet imbedded in the lining of my thick winter coat. Never seen a dud as strong.
A small cold wind makes me realize that I also stole my sneakers. I do not need to cast a glance to know that the gun has also disappeared. Now I know how much it costs a bullet hole.
For the rest I can still learn. Because everything I have left is the fierce need to be a better man, and the secret desire to overcome my evil twin. But it's monstrously hard to get out of mediocrity.
I get up and walk a few meters down the street devastated. The smell of corpses burns my throat and shards of glass pierce my socks and stood on my feet. Slowly, I removed the coat that saved my life and abandons the battlefield, thinking he has fulfilled his role. I imagine this becoming an instant acrobat moron who refuses safety nets to impress the idiots.
I'm going up the building where I left Joell, and knocks on the door. The Swiss opens me with a sallow complexion, t-shirt stained with vomit. I take my most reassuring voice to tell him that is going to see friends of mine. Seeing that he does not respond, I pull her by promising that he will die if he stays there. We go
Capital disfigured lump in his throat. Cries sometimes we reach the corners of streets, we take care to avoid. The street lights are off, and streets changed. I can hardly find my way.
What can I do?
The night passes like a nightmare calm, and we are soon at Vincent. The household has not been done in the stairwell for ages, and in the hall garbage piling up and seem to deny all hope.
I climb the stairs four at my feet despite mutilated. Joell, still sounded a bit, just to follow me and I take a few floors in advance. But it is exhausted as I knock on the door of Vincent. When I open myself
see his face revulsion. With a sudden fury, I leaned back to make me fall, and I can not find the strength to ask him why. When I stick a gun to his head, I realize that he had in hand before opening.
"It's me, said I, comprising instinctively Irving Rutherford did not leave my friends alone as he had promised.
-Prove to me that's you, "he orders me.
-I ... I am the only person who knows that you do every Sunday the hustler making you call "Monica bitch." His face relaxes
a bit. I replied that I confuse with my mother, and removed his gun from my face.
Notes:-Chaos unclear
Vincent not aggressive enough
Soon: Xavier Biffle 
"" I think I regret the time I just had to die goblins. Since
the forces of evil had swept the four kingdoms of Ragnar, Paxton Fettel felt both motivated and overtaken by events. Time dungeons and hunts trolls now belonged to history. His faithful companion
Morgados he remarked that he had assailed an ogre there just two days after that. But Paxton sky was filled with dragons invincible. His sword was not so honed, and the best sharpeners had perished in the fire of Samarkand.
"What do you want to face a dragon? Paxton whimpered.
-Surviving is not bad. It is their feet. Be
Knight at this time fell almost unconscious. For armor melt under the hot breath of the giant lizards, and swords just flay their scales. Basically it was useless to hide its face, Paxton Fettel might be eaten even before he took out his weapon from its scabbard.
-In the best case, he quipped, all I can do is slow down a dragon not too huge for two minutes.
-Two minutes is already something, "said Morgados. "
Joell lays the leaves and I noted that it is a bit low for an end of chapter. He puts the text on the back seat, and Roger there ready not careful. I request him if he does not jump start to make me happy.
"I know why you keep your fucking winter coat," he said, pulling on my hood.
-No you do not know. I
flaps on Joell conversation, which is not very rich. He tells me he thinks I am glad now when I say I am Irving Rutherford. I sigh and focus on the road, long and monotonous. He added that he never knows when I write about me or not, and anyway I prefer when he recounts the adventures of my friends.
-How it is called now, the ninja?
Xavier.
No, it's not him. It's ... Vincent. No?
Vincent is another.
I do not know if it was the public that it deserves. To please Roger, I questioned him on his mission, and the future of which it comes. Still distant, he explains laboriously that the world which he has probably never exist. Not since I accidentally created an evil twin.
Irving Rutherford disrupts the equation, "he summarizes. It is not just a history of literature.
It was never a question of literature. Paris is close now, and I do not know exactly what type of fight we're going to lead. But I have more on my Kalashnikov in the trunk on my lazy prose.
A stray bullet just burst a tire of the car, which swerved as I do not control. I miss driving hours. The vehicle overturned a revolutionary armed with a submachine gun, which strikes our windshield and pass through. Roger yells from the backseat, while Joell gives great nudge to our riding for him to drop his weapon. Myself and I cry like a little girl when the car fits into a lamppost.
head pushed into the airbag, I tell myself that at least we got to Paris.
off my belt and I go out of my vehicle to run to safety, notifying to my accomplices to follow me. I street behind a truck, avoiding the bullets whistling, without looking back. Congratulations, you've got you just planted between the revolutionaries and the army.
Shouts and cries echo hollow points his nose above the noise bursts. It is full of rage that would have once terrorized. The walls of the Haussmann buildings are riddled with bullet holes that look old. Paris is Paris.
I turned towards the car and observed Joell struggling with the lifeless body of revolution. Roger, it has simply disappeared. I signaled to the road to join me at the shelter, and after a short time of hesitation, he rushes to join me.
It's a miracle, given as it crawls, it arrives to me unharmed. He panted like a seal, while the revolutionaries began to chant hymns of their own, in some military scrubs. But they are better equipped, and the response is terrible.
A squadron of smoke grenades flying over the street, obscuring everything in its path. The roar of an armored vehicle covers for a moment the sound of gunfire, and a deathly silence settles for a few seconds, disturbed by the crackling of broken glass crushed under the tracks of the craft demonic.
I ask where is Joell Roger passed this asshole.
-Who?
I drop and my eyes misty seeking a way out. The two forces will never stop advancing toward one another, and none seems determined to let go of the land. I'm just in the middle.
Roger had to find a way out of everything. I inspect the doors of buildings quickly, and finds one ajar a little further exposed.
The street is filled with smoke, and I do not see that coming rocket strikes the armored vehicle. The military orders shouted in every direction, as if the discipline was going to save their lives. The rioters are content to cry joy.
Some climb on cars, full of joy, before they rush to their opponents. Several were killed by gusts before they made ten meters. Joel and I get run like a fool to the door I saw. The road crying like a child.
I shoot almost inside the building and shut the door behind us. He collapses on the floor and moans incoherently. I probably would have let the Swiss border.
"You're with them," he stutters.
I am with someone, Joell.
"You're in the street with them.
A discharge passes between my two ears, and I bite the tongue. Driven by an uncontrollable urge, I open the door to take a look at the street. That's my biggest mistake of the day.
Irving Rutherford is standing on a car among the revolutionaries. He brandished a pistol gesturing toward the military. With a certain majesty, he descends from his perch and advance towards the enemy while walking down the weapon, with a confidence that scares a little fellow.
I personally find that he tells it a little. I grab a stone floor, and without thinking, I throw it at him hoping that he makes him swallow his smile. But I've never been fucked to aim properly, and my shot the lack of a good meter.
Irving turns to me and I decipher a mixture of anger, surprise and weariness in his eyes reptilian. His mouth drooling flames that consume me if I did not take station. I found my dragon.
I rushed towards the car which I came, dancing with gusts through the smoke. Some grenades are flying in jets and disperse lethal in both camps, which are now really close. I do not have much time. I open hastily
the trunk of the car, and lifts the cloth that covers the machine gun. I get a charger, and try to make it fit in the socket. But the gun is still also seized, and my fingers are trembling too. Irving
background on me with a terrible slowness. The sun is shining up his scales. He walks up to me, impervious to chaos, as sure of his power, while I busy myself to charge my Kalashnikov. He raises his gun towards me and smiled, revealing a row of fangs. I blame my stupidity with reason for coming back to do shit. "I've slowed
two minutes," I whispered. Even not-
. Its claws
press the trigger. The gun goes off at close range, and I stay up a split second, as if suspended by the sheer force of will. Then it's as if I sank about myself. Bend my legs and my back is bent, and I collapse on the ground quietly and without rancor.
When I open my eyes, night has fallen. The street is deserted, and I'm a corpse, among others. My chest hurts a dog, and I sat down heavily. When I search my pockets, I realize that my cigarettes have disappeared.
I take the bullet imbedded in the lining of my thick winter coat. Never seen a dud as strong.
A small cold wind makes me realize that I also stole my sneakers. I do not need to cast a glance to know that the gun has also disappeared. Now I know how much it costs a bullet hole.
For the rest I can still learn. Because everything I have left is the fierce need to be a better man, and the secret desire to overcome my evil twin. But it's monstrously hard to get out of mediocrity.
I get up and walk a few meters down the street devastated. The smell of corpses burns my throat and shards of glass pierce my socks and stood on my feet. Slowly, I removed the coat that saved my life and abandons the battlefield, thinking he has fulfilled his role. I imagine this becoming an instant acrobat moron who refuses safety nets to impress the idiots.
I'm going up the building where I left Joell, and knocks on the door. The Swiss opens me with a sallow complexion, t-shirt stained with vomit. I take my most reassuring voice to tell him that is going to see friends of mine. Seeing that he does not respond, I pull her by promising that he will die if he stays there. We go
Capital disfigured lump in his throat. Cries sometimes we reach the corners of streets, we take care to avoid. The street lights are off, and streets changed. I can hardly find my way.
What can I do?
The night passes like a nightmare calm, and we are soon at Vincent. The household has not been done in the stairwell for ages, and in the hall garbage piling up and seem to deny all hope.
I climb the stairs four at my feet despite mutilated. Joell, still sounded a bit, just to follow me and I take a few floors in advance. But it is exhausted as I knock on the door of Vincent. When I open myself
see his face revulsion. With a sudden fury, I leaned back to make me fall, and I can not find the strength to ask him why. When I stick a gun to his head, I realize that he had in hand before opening.
"It's me, said I, comprising instinctively Irving Rutherford did not leave my friends alone as he had promised.
-Prove to me that's you, "he orders me.
-I ... I am the only person who knows that you do every Sunday the hustler making you call "Monica bitch." His face relaxes
a bit. I replied that I confuse with my mother, and removed his gun from my face.
Notes:-Chaos unclear
Vincent not aggressive enough
Soon: Xavier Biffle
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Def Jam Records Internship
the dragon 30. The people on the path
I tend, when I open a book, always wanting to start with the last sentence. She often learns nothing about the story itself, and does not spoil any surprises. Then I read the first, and try to reconcile the two.
Because deep down, I am one of those that the path is immaterial. What interests me is always how things end. For me it's all in the first and last sentence, and I often convince myself that the rest is just filler. I should write shorter stories.
The beginning is long gone, and I have no idea how things will end. In an unexpected manner, or completely logical, or both. In any case I prefer to equip myself with a good gun.
I tell Lucien that the charger from the Kalashnikov is slightly damaged, and suddenly it's hard to fit.
-Try now be drawn without you remove the shoulder, he replied a little dark. The rest is detail.
He's right. The end of history will probably not depend on a feeder that hangs a little. All this belongs to the path.
I load the gun a little by forcing it, and move on. For the form, I wonder who it belongs. When he said, "a cousin" I fail to explode. "But you
quintuplets chain, in your fucking family?
-Attention threatens me there. You speak of my family.
I sigh, muttering that he is unable to admit to me that as a scheming bastard. He mumbles something that I do know that "big family", avoiding cross my eyes. For a while, I swear he's going to cry.
-I have a new movie idea, "he stammered.
Me too.
"It is the story of a negotiator. He must think of the terrorists who have taken a bank hostage. Except that his wife is inside and that it obscures his trial. So he gets mad not evil. It is a powerful role.
And how it ends?
-I do not know yet.
We leave home to go and carry the latest bags in the trunk of the car. I try to hide the Kalashnikov under an old cloth. In the world of novels, this kind of transition would indicate a violent end is coming. But I'm not really sure.
I do not speak to Lucien the idea that I've had. In this film, which begins "They come to kill you" and ends with "I can not relativize. He did anyway not seem in the mood to listen. I realize that I am sentence, and he would have liked to train a little longer in his madness.
It's like a farewell before leaving for war. He remarked that I took more fuel than I need, like a motherfucker. I would recommend putting more people in his films.
"You know how much it costs a bullet, my chicken? wonder there.
I got into a car and drives off. He waves his hand for an eternity, until I no longer noticing in my rearview mirror. As for going on vacation. I am walking
Marseille without nostalgia. The city is on my way, and basically it will not had much influence on the course of things. But I know she will always be there if I need it, and somehow it comforts me. Roger
I rush back in the neighborhood of Point Red, because I'm sure that's where it should be. He will probably find the name of the place "appropriate."
I gave up trying to unravel the secrets of this whole logic of appearances of my friend's future. We begin to know, if not appreciate us, and now it's as if I just let myself be carried along by this mechanics obscure to anticipate certain events. Maybe that's how it works in the future.
I arrive in this area which has an air of false postcard, and Roger discovers that awaits me without luggage on board the main road. I stop at its height, and asked him to ride. By moving the passenger seat, he asked me why I wear my winter coat, and if I do not die of heat with it.
-I 'I need, I say. You can not understand.
And since when you know how to drive?
"You honestly believe that in these days we'll ask for my license?
He scowls a bit. Without needing to open their mouths, I feel that this turn of events it dislike. It was probably used to having to leave me kicking ass for me to move a little, and now he feels left behind.
-Basically everything goes well, he grumbles.
-A except that no music for the trip. Just the radio.
And as radios emit more.
And I am a pathetic singer.
I did not encounter a car since I started driving, and pedestrians are rare at this time of day. I also want to give a little boost, and Roger advised me not to be too confident either in my driving.
-It is not like a scooter driver, he derides.
"You want to drive, you?
Why not.
-It is not like a jetpack pilot either. Sorry. This time he sulks
completely. I told him that I have a little errand to do before taking the highway and climbed the hill to the Basilica of the Guard. I park the car on a deserted car park and will stretch my legs a bit while waiting for the fateful rendezvous.
I can not say if the end is near, but I'm beginning to understand the trick of the road. Life is filling, and deep down I'm not a bad writer if I can predict certain things.
The wind sent shudders through the grass around me, and hunting birds in the trees. Even this season, the basilica is bathed in a cool contrast with the rest of the city. I do not climb the stairs to the building. I assume that since God has tried to kill me, I'm scared places of worship. So I give
kicked in the stones, I watch Marseille stretching really far. I filled a few minutes of my life with little things that bring me closer to a little over the outcome. Martine
tumbling into my field of vision, without giving me notice. She walks on the grass, trying, as if it were possible, to protect her hair from the wind. And when she sees me, I remember that everything is always in the first and last sentence.
"Come with me," I said.
The wind covers my words, and she asks me to repeat what I abstain because I'm not quite sure of my shot.
-How do you do to find me? she asked a little irritated.
-You 're in my way. Everywhere.
is not easy to finish something. Not to spend time describing and stir some more. I hesitate to return the car to look for the gun.
Martine said she expected me a lot. I want to tell him that it's really not the time. There are some mechanics that are impossible to understand. I told him that I return to Paris without really knowing how it can react.
"But damn, she gets angry, frankly, we're still going to spend our lives to expect! You can continue to do anything here, you do not need to return there.
-I will not do anything there. Really.
"You know nothing else to do. You make shit.
His eyes fill with tears, and she turns her head. I am looking for the last sentence, without arriving to find it. We can not say I am a prolific writer. Febrile enough, it moves away from me and began to climb the stairs to the basilica, where she knows I can not follow it. I
yells "fuck you" and she turns to throw me a look calm and sad, makes me feel like a little boy. I walk calmly to the car, and hesitated until the last moment to grab the Kalashnikov to attack this damn church.
I sit behind the wheel and starts. Roger is always mouth, watching the road and scroll through the window. The hill is easier to descend than climb, and I am quickly toward the highway.
This is not the end. I know because "fuck you" is anything but a last sentence. That probably explains why I am so sad I should be.
I cross a moving car in reverse and the driver returns my gaze astounded me. Doubtless he did not usually cross the world either. I agree on the freeway and Roger finally starts to relax. He asked me if I have other appointments, and if I really expected anything would happen. "I'm not
medium, asshole. It's just that there are people more predictable than others. Besides, we will make a detour to the Swiss border to retrieve the road Joell. It must be stuck in France.
-Tu me rotten life.
He crosses his arms and sings a song unknown, not having to talk to me. Yet he is wrong: I can not foresee everything, and I'm even more curious than he how all this will end.
A long military convoy passes us in the opposite direction. This is probably why the driver crossed that I stared. Perhaps that Marseille will lose his cool after all.
I watch the trucks loaded with soldiers until they disappear from my rearview mirror and asked Roger what I call the "real future". The real-
future away, "he replied tersely.
Note: Do not move away
Soon: Irving dragon 
I tend, when I open a book, always wanting to start with the last sentence. She often learns nothing about the story itself, and does not spoil any surprises. Then I read the first, and try to reconcile the two.
Because deep down, I am one of those that the path is immaterial. What interests me is always how things end. For me it's all in the first and last sentence, and I often convince myself that the rest is just filler. I should write shorter stories.
The beginning is long gone, and I have no idea how things will end. In an unexpected manner, or completely logical, or both. In any case I prefer to equip myself with a good gun.
I tell Lucien that the charger from the Kalashnikov is slightly damaged, and suddenly it's hard to fit.
-Try now be drawn without you remove the shoulder, he replied a little dark. The rest is detail.
He's right. The end of history will probably not depend on a feeder that hangs a little. All this belongs to the path.
I load the gun a little by forcing it, and move on. For the form, I wonder who it belongs. When he said, "a cousin" I fail to explode. "But you
quintuplets chain, in your fucking family?
-Attention threatens me there. You speak of my family.
I sigh, muttering that he is unable to admit to me that as a scheming bastard. He mumbles something that I do know that "big family", avoiding cross my eyes. For a while, I swear he's going to cry.
-I have a new movie idea, "he stammered.
Me too.
"It is the story of a negotiator. He must think of the terrorists who have taken a bank hostage. Except that his wife is inside and that it obscures his trial. So he gets mad not evil. It is a powerful role.
And how it ends?
-I do not know yet.
We leave home to go and carry the latest bags in the trunk of the car. I try to hide the Kalashnikov under an old cloth. In the world of novels, this kind of transition would indicate a violent end is coming. But I'm not really sure.
I do not speak to Lucien the idea that I've had. In this film, which begins "They come to kill you" and ends with "I can not relativize. He did anyway not seem in the mood to listen. I realize that I am sentence, and he would have liked to train a little longer in his madness.
It's like a farewell before leaving for war. He remarked that I took more fuel than I need, like a motherfucker. I would recommend putting more people in his films.
"You know how much it costs a bullet, my chicken? wonder there.
I got into a car and drives off. He waves his hand for an eternity, until I no longer noticing in my rearview mirror. As for going on vacation. I am walking
Marseille without nostalgia. The city is on my way, and basically it will not had much influence on the course of things. But I know she will always be there if I need it, and somehow it comforts me. Roger
I rush back in the neighborhood of Point Red, because I'm sure that's where it should be. He will probably find the name of the place "appropriate."
I gave up trying to unravel the secrets of this whole logic of appearances of my friend's future. We begin to know, if not appreciate us, and now it's as if I just let myself be carried along by this mechanics obscure to anticipate certain events. Maybe that's how it works in the future.
I arrive in this area which has an air of false postcard, and Roger discovers that awaits me without luggage on board the main road. I stop at its height, and asked him to ride. By moving the passenger seat, he asked me why I wear my winter coat, and if I do not die of heat with it.
-I 'I need, I say. You can not understand.
And since when you know how to drive?
"You honestly believe that in these days we'll ask for my license?
He scowls a bit. Without needing to open their mouths, I feel that this turn of events it dislike. It was probably used to having to leave me kicking ass for me to move a little, and now he feels left behind.
-Basically everything goes well, he grumbles.
-A except that no music for the trip. Just the radio.
And as radios emit more.
And I am a pathetic singer.
I did not encounter a car since I started driving, and pedestrians are rare at this time of day. I also want to give a little boost, and Roger advised me not to be too confident either in my driving.
-It is not like a scooter driver, he derides.
"You want to drive, you?
Why not.
-It is not like a jetpack pilot either. Sorry. This time he sulks
completely. I told him that I have a little errand to do before taking the highway and climbed the hill to the Basilica of the Guard. I park the car on a deserted car park and will stretch my legs a bit while waiting for the fateful rendezvous.
I can not say if the end is near, but I'm beginning to understand the trick of the road. Life is filling, and deep down I'm not a bad writer if I can predict certain things.
The wind sent shudders through the grass around me, and hunting birds in the trees. Even this season, the basilica is bathed in a cool contrast with the rest of the city. I do not climb the stairs to the building. I assume that since God has tried to kill me, I'm scared places of worship. So I give
kicked in the stones, I watch Marseille stretching really far. I filled a few minutes of my life with little things that bring me closer to a little over the outcome. Martine
tumbling into my field of vision, without giving me notice. She walks on the grass, trying, as if it were possible, to protect her hair from the wind. And when she sees me, I remember that everything is always in the first and last sentence.
"Come with me," I said.
The wind covers my words, and she asks me to repeat what I abstain because I'm not quite sure of my shot.
-How do you do to find me? she asked a little irritated.
-You 're in my way. Everywhere.
is not easy to finish something. Not to spend time describing and stir some more. I hesitate to return the car to look for the gun.
Martine said she expected me a lot. I want to tell him that it's really not the time. There are some mechanics that are impossible to understand. I told him that I return to Paris without really knowing how it can react.
"But damn, she gets angry, frankly, we're still going to spend our lives to expect! You can continue to do anything here, you do not need to return there.
-I will not do anything there. Really.
"You know nothing else to do. You make shit.
His eyes fill with tears, and she turns her head. I am looking for the last sentence, without arriving to find it. We can not say I am a prolific writer. Febrile enough, it moves away from me and began to climb the stairs to the basilica, where she knows I can not follow it. I
yells "fuck you" and she turns to throw me a look calm and sad, makes me feel like a little boy. I walk calmly to the car, and hesitated until the last moment to grab the Kalashnikov to attack this damn church.
I sit behind the wheel and starts. Roger is always mouth, watching the road and scroll through the window. The hill is easier to descend than climb, and I am quickly toward the highway.
This is not the end. I know because "fuck you" is anything but a last sentence. That probably explains why I am so sad I should be.
I cross a moving car in reverse and the driver returns my gaze astounded me. Doubtless he did not usually cross the world either. I agree on the freeway and Roger finally starts to relax. He asked me if I have other appointments, and if I really expected anything would happen. "I'm not
medium, asshole. It's just that there are people more predictable than others. Besides, we will make a detour to the Swiss border to retrieve the road Joell. It must be stuck in France.
-Tu me rotten life.
He crosses his arms and sings a song unknown, not having to talk to me. Yet he is wrong: I can not foresee everything, and I'm even more curious than he how all this will end.
A long military convoy passes us in the opposite direction. This is probably why the driver crossed that I stared. Perhaps that Marseille will lose his cool after all.
I watch the trucks loaded with soldiers until they disappear from my rearview mirror and asked Roger what I call the "real future". The real-
future away, "he replied tersely.
Note: Do not move away
Soon: Irving dragon
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Motiontrendz 3-wheel Scooter At Walmart -
29. Roger seeks the unexpected
"That's who the photographer?
-A cousin.
I force myself to smile a little, while Lucien puts his hand on my shoulder. He whispers to me that I should have looked less stupid if I had brought a girl with me. We ask for the photo and the flash does not even make noise.
My producer then train on a tiny red carpet that runs from sidewalk to the door of the hall, ie a distance of less than two meters. We take our time to go, greeting a few fans who made the trip.
is finally here, damn. I redid an action movie Marseille. I reduced my world with a gun pump loaded with blanks and cocktails in the evening. And I have no power over anything.
"It's your time sweetie, Lucien am encouraged by pushing the door of the hall.
We enter a large room full of chairs arranged haphazardly, and I understand that this is the projection room. People already installed we applaud me and my director, while we sit down first.
My time is that of adulthood. Quit the stories of knights to concentrate on what really makes people vibrate. It is time to listen a little and you're told to stop doing your head cunt.
fuck thee not even believe yourself.
I loosened my tie a bit stuffy. Certainly, this pattern sucks. I try to resume normal breathing, with exercises sophrology of my invention. After a few breaths, hiccups takes me, and Lucien explodes with laughter.
-Be serious, a little, "he laughs.
"I'm doing everything I can to. I'm doing it.
The lights go down and the last stragglers will settle. Daylight filter a little despite the curtains drawn. Lucien rises, and a small projector held by his cousin photographer just enlighten. It begins to speak confidently of human experience and reference to genre cinema. It touts its lead actor, who has the hiccups and does not want to see this movie. Who suddenly a big doubt.
Lucien sits down beside me in heckling me a little excited as a kid. The black is almost complete, and the images start to appear on the screen. Except that I remembered the opening scene was not happening in Paris.
The grain of the image is a bit rude, and shows us the Rivoli street full of cars returned, stormed by rioters. A nasal voice comments on the action, seeming to leave the old information films for years forty. "Paris has passed the stage of mere revolt" informs us does. My
hiccup is stronger. I discovered with horror the images of protesters rushing against the military, who do not hesitate to fire on the crowd. The voice continued his speech in a tone both calm and excited, while a murmur rises from the floor.
I told Lucien that I'll have a glass of water to cure my hiccups, until he has solved the problem. I leave the room trying to ignore the images of devastation on the screen. I
returns the red carpet in the opposite direction and walk a few minutes to get lost in the streets of this city that basically I do not know so well. I finally sat on a bench and pulls my tie shit.
If I smoke a cigarette now, then stop will be an ordeal.
That is what I do. Damn, just enough balls to hand it to waste time pretending to be someone else. The only excuse is to try to be better. I will not smoke not a lifetime. My
hiccups do not let go, and gets even more insistent. I try to postpone my attention on something else: People who spend recklessly and they give off, the color of cars, the sea air imperceptible ... Patiently, I wait that Roger comes into play.
He did not take more than a few minutes. It opens at the corner and just sit quietly on the bench with me, explaining that he had a little trouble finding me. I have time to finish my cigarette without adding a single word.
By crushing my butt, I asked him why he took that nasal voice of the forties. He replied that he thought it more appropriate. I start to laugh and am stopped in my tracks by the hiccups.
-Hey, "he said, you remember when I said that I had a future where you had the Nobel Prize?
Yes.
He lifts his head to let the sun heat it. The night takes an infinite time to fall tonight, probably because I'm more used to the summer.
-I lied, Roger apologizes. Actually I'm not really here to help you become a great writer.
"You know what I like about the great writers?
-What?
"They seek the unexpected. Detail a little crazy with nothing to do in the story they tell, and yet integrates it with evidence.
-It is perhaps the shit to know everything in advance.
"Is what I am like this only happened in the future? That would be enough. Are you listening
-not really. Want to know why I'm here ?
"You know I do not care. My
hiccup becomes downright unbearable. My body is shaken by spasms of increasingly violent, and my chest burns me. There is no idea of letting annoy by such small things.
The night seems to fall in seconds. The street lights are not yet lit, and everything gets darker light speed. We suffer too much. The moments when we can act, I mean really act, are becoming scarcer as the days pass, and most of the time we do not understand. It is said that in any case there is time, and the chances will always represent.
In fact we pass for fools, and the hiccups does not help. "I started
to wander, "I said calmly, as if to make sure. You came to ask me to go back to Paris?
Roger replied in the affirmative, and I told him I agree. I noted that I do not even know why I'm back.
He is wrong. On reflection, I look back at the front for the unexpected. And the reasons for Roger, basically I have plenty of time to know them.
"It is Irving Rutherford loose there.
"I do not care.
-I thought it would be a good thing to follow, but it turned out to be someone ... I know. Wrong.
-No shit?
-You must demolish it.
"It is on the specification.
I have too many people to demolish me to continue playing poet cursed. It is no longer credible. I would tell Roger I am sure of my shot, it's one of those moments where we can act, but I'm not sure to find the strength to leave Marseille when I woke up tomorrow morning. I'm not even sure how to get up before noon. I
turns me another cigarette. Streetlights, they remain off, and I can hardly see the face of Roger in the dark. It advises me to go to bed early and not change his mind. Easy to say.
He gets up and leaves me to my sweet reverie. It's crazy but it almost made me happy to see him again this time.
I stay alone with my bench, my cigarette and my hiccups. The spasms become increasingly hot, and hot smoking soothe just the fire that gradually settles in my lungs. Strangely, all that is not unpleasant.
is the anger that comes back, and that'sa good thing. Maybe after all I get to get up before noon. Then the rest will go alone.
I looks like it was in Marseille last. I've never actually taken the time to learn about this city. I have met that bar and directors stamped. That's why I come back one day, would not only to revisit this strange movie in which I kill so many people. I have a spasm
more violent than others, and I swear that little flame out of my mouth suddenly. A bit helpless, waiting for the next hiccup will pay more attention. But nothing happens, believe that I got to the point of saturation. A gentle warmth came over me
completely now. I watch the palms of my hands, and sees some sparks crackle. I smiled realizing what it means. I
stares at a car parked across the street. After a few seconds, it ignited slowly. I do a test with a small van, and the same result.
I stretch my arms with a feeling of intense satisfaction. I unfold my body sitting for too long, and left the bench. I could continue to burn out stuff, but I fucked up enough and I should go to bed early.
I take the path of a hotel not decided. But the excitement is just my knees tremble, and I really wonder how I'll get to sleep. It is too late to buy comics.
Everything to do. Basically I have a choice between staying here and leaving, between seaside holidays and barricades. I will seek the unexpected, because the Mediterranean is really boring to die. It is never safe to make the right choice, but it should not become an excuse.
Damn it's so hard not everything goes wrong.
Note: Too many cigarettes
Soon: The people on the path 
"That's who the photographer?
-A cousin.
I force myself to smile a little, while Lucien puts his hand on my shoulder. He whispers to me that I should have looked less stupid if I had brought a girl with me. We ask for the photo and the flash does not even make noise.
My producer then train on a tiny red carpet that runs from sidewalk to the door of the hall, ie a distance of less than two meters. We take our time to go, greeting a few fans who made the trip.
is finally here, damn. I redid an action movie Marseille. I reduced my world with a gun pump loaded with blanks and cocktails in the evening. And I have no power over anything.
"It's your time sweetie, Lucien am encouraged by pushing the door of the hall.
We enter a large room full of chairs arranged haphazardly, and I understand that this is the projection room. People already installed we applaud me and my director, while we sit down first.
My time is that of adulthood. Quit the stories of knights to concentrate on what really makes people vibrate. It is time to listen a little and you're told to stop doing your head cunt.
fuck thee not even believe yourself.
I loosened my tie a bit stuffy. Certainly, this pattern sucks. I try to resume normal breathing, with exercises sophrology of my invention. After a few breaths, hiccups takes me, and Lucien explodes with laughter.
-Be serious, a little, "he laughs.
"I'm doing everything I can to. I'm doing it.
The lights go down and the last stragglers will settle. Daylight filter a little despite the curtains drawn. Lucien rises, and a small projector held by his cousin photographer just enlighten. It begins to speak confidently of human experience and reference to genre cinema. It touts its lead actor, who has the hiccups and does not want to see this movie. Who suddenly a big doubt.
Lucien sits down beside me in heckling me a little excited as a kid. The black is almost complete, and the images start to appear on the screen. Except that I remembered the opening scene was not happening in Paris.
The grain of the image is a bit rude, and shows us the Rivoli street full of cars returned, stormed by rioters. A nasal voice comments on the action, seeming to leave the old information films for years forty. "Paris has passed the stage of mere revolt" informs us does. My
hiccup is stronger. I discovered with horror the images of protesters rushing against the military, who do not hesitate to fire on the crowd. The voice continued his speech in a tone both calm and excited, while a murmur rises from the floor.
I told Lucien that I'll have a glass of water to cure my hiccups, until he has solved the problem. I leave the room trying to ignore the images of devastation on the screen. I
returns the red carpet in the opposite direction and walk a few minutes to get lost in the streets of this city that basically I do not know so well. I finally sat on a bench and pulls my tie shit.
If I smoke a cigarette now, then stop will be an ordeal.
That is what I do. Damn, just enough balls to hand it to waste time pretending to be someone else. The only excuse is to try to be better. I will not smoke not a lifetime. My
hiccups do not let go, and gets even more insistent. I try to postpone my attention on something else: People who spend recklessly and they give off, the color of cars, the sea air imperceptible ... Patiently, I wait that Roger comes into play.
He did not take more than a few minutes. It opens at the corner and just sit quietly on the bench with me, explaining that he had a little trouble finding me. I have time to finish my cigarette without adding a single word.
By crushing my butt, I asked him why he took that nasal voice of the forties. He replied that he thought it more appropriate. I start to laugh and am stopped in my tracks by the hiccups.
-Hey, "he said, you remember when I said that I had a future where you had the Nobel Prize?
Yes.
He lifts his head to let the sun heat it. The night takes an infinite time to fall tonight, probably because I'm more used to the summer.
-I lied, Roger apologizes. Actually I'm not really here to help you become a great writer.
"You know what I like about the great writers?
-What?
"They seek the unexpected. Detail a little crazy with nothing to do in the story they tell, and yet integrates it with evidence.
-It is perhaps the shit to know everything in advance.
"Is what I am like this only happened in the future? That would be enough. Are you listening
-not really. Want to know why I'm here ?
"You know I do not care. My
hiccup becomes downright unbearable. My body is shaken by spasms of increasingly violent, and my chest burns me. There is no idea of letting annoy by such small things.
The night seems to fall in seconds. The street lights are not yet lit, and everything gets darker light speed. We suffer too much. The moments when we can act, I mean really act, are becoming scarcer as the days pass, and most of the time we do not understand. It is said that in any case there is time, and the chances will always represent.
In fact we pass for fools, and the hiccups does not help. "I started
to wander, "I said calmly, as if to make sure. You came to ask me to go back to Paris?
Roger replied in the affirmative, and I told him I agree. I noted that I do not even know why I'm back.
He is wrong. On reflection, I look back at the front for the unexpected. And the reasons for Roger, basically I have plenty of time to know them.
"It is Irving Rutherford loose there.
"I do not care.
-I thought it would be a good thing to follow, but it turned out to be someone ... I know. Wrong.
-No shit?
-You must demolish it.
"It is on the specification.
I have too many people to demolish me to continue playing poet cursed. It is no longer credible. I would tell Roger I am sure of my shot, it's one of those moments where we can act, but I'm not sure to find the strength to leave Marseille when I woke up tomorrow morning. I'm not even sure how to get up before noon. I
turns me another cigarette. Streetlights, they remain off, and I can hardly see the face of Roger in the dark. It advises me to go to bed early and not change his mind. Easy to say.
He gets up and leaves me to my sweet reverie. It's crazy but it almost made me happy to see him again this time.
I stay alone with my bench, my cigarette and my hiccups. The spasms become increasingly hot, and hot smoking soothe just the fire that gradually settles in my lungs. Strangely, all that is not unpleasant.
is the anger that comes back, and that'sa good thing. Maybe after all I get to get up before noon. Then the rest will go alone.
I looks like it was in Marseille last. I've never actually taken the time to learn about this city. I have met that bar and directors stamped. That's why I come back one day, would not only to revisit this strange movie in which I kill so many people. I have a spasm
more violent than others, and I swear that little flame out of my mouth suddenly. A bit helpless, waiting for the next hiccup will pay more attention. But nothing happens, believe that I got to the point of saturation. A gentle warmth came over me
completely now. I watch the palms of my hands, and sees some sparks crackle. I smiled realizing what it means. I
stares at a car parked across the street. After a few seconds, it ignited slowly. I do a test with a small van, and the same result.
I stretch my arms with a feeling of intense satisfaction. I unfold my body sitting for too long, and left the bench. I could continue to burn out stuff, but I fucked up enough and I should go to bed early.
I take the path of a hotel not decided. But the excitement is just my knees tremble, and I really wonder how I'll get to sleep. It is too late to buy comics.
Everything to do. Basically I have a choice between staying here and leaving, between seaside holidays and barricades. I will seek the unexpected, because the Mediterranean is really boring to die. It is never safe to make the right choice, but it should not become an excuse.
Damn it's so hard not everything goes wrong.
Note: Too many cigarettes
Soon: The people on the path
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