"The first thing I did was to start me grow a beard for good. Thus we do not take me more than ever for Irving Rutherford. We say "No, it's another one who writes and who is attacking full mouth. "
Then I parley with Vincent and Xavier, and respect for my condition, they agreed to go with my mother province. It did me good to see the sea, although I can not go swimming until my wounds are healed.
I did not show my wounds to my mother. I had to repress a cry of pain when she took me in his arms.
So it makes a lot of mouths to feed, and Vincent is struggling to find its feet for refueling. For him the province is a world of mystery and cow dung. Xavier has already began to plant a small vegetable garden in case civil war drags on.
I think I'll tear up this letter, because ultimately I do not feel like writing you. "
I do. I throw the debris into a trash can and come out smoking in the garden. Xavier is already there despite the early hour, and returns the lawn of my mother. "Scene of emotion" joked he saw me smoking silently, gazing into the distance.
I give him the finger and rub my face vigorously to wake me up. We still have a few hours before the heat is unbearable. I sit in a patch of grass untouched and observes Xavier work, while he is thinking aloud that he would be tortured too. That way it would be exempt from the heavy work.
I told him that the real torture is to be his friend. I lie in the grass, and we discuss it during spade. We're talking about horror movies and the meaning of life. The sun comes up during our discussion, and locks us into a furnace. I feel it softens everything, including our traumas.
Vincent finally got up and rattle because the heat was awake. From his window, he asks Why are we up so early and I daren't tell him that I did not sleep.
It's time for breakfast. Xavier puts his tools, and me to the kitchen, where Vincent is waiting for us already. My mother is there, trying to cook eggs to the pan. I'll kiss him and say hello, and I have to remember to take her in my arms and told him not to worry.
Xavier's parents live in a place that will probably never touched by violent riots in a small firm that will give them something to eat. Vincent's mother is partly in Israel and return when things are subsided. I fear for mine.
The breakfast is frugal. We ration food to take longer, and also limit myself to coffee. When we finished, my mother asks me what we intend to do today.
-on rebuilds, meets Xavier gave me a wink. We will go to a meeting.
Vincent argues that he liked going to the beach, and my mother bursts out laughing. It forces us to take the eggs, we are ignoring the protests on the need to conserve food.
-My name is Vincent and I m'autosuce.
-Hello Vincent!
Xavier whispers that it hurts to admit it in the ass, but that these meetings are good for us. While Vincent forth on the obligation in these dark times to preserve habits and simple pleasures, I spread my legs and spend my hands behind my head. I stare at the ceiling with a slight smile.
-People take us all, says the mustachioed. We're all alone and it is preserved. The
autosuceurs applaud. Xavier clenched jaws. He did not confess, but he also needs a little rebuilding. When he read my novel, the only thing he said was "It is nonsense but is your life. "to which I replied" That's life.. " We spent the week doing jokes.
My mother, fortunately, was not on TV. She has not seen what we saw. She is a little sadder than usual, and puts it down to fatigue. According to her a few days at sea will arrange that, and perhaps she is right.
-You're the biggest band of fags I've ever seen, but I gets off on guys!
Vincent sits down triumphantly in applause mixed. Her face radiates pleasure. He treats us Xavier and I are morons, not realizing that his legs involuntarily wriggle, like a child.
The meeting ends, and a small farewell party is organized. Apparently, the sessions will resume when it's "a little less crap everywhere." Some cry, wondering how they will live alone with autofellatio by then, and I feel a little grief for them.
I will use a glass of milk, drink that I find completely inappropriate given the circumstances.
"That is all we have, tells me one of the members, a certain Pierre A.
He tells me then me well observed, and be sure I'm not flexible enough to practice "the thing". I replied that I'm just a supporter. He shakes my hand vigorously, and pronounce words of comfort.
"I know you want to be like us," he said in a tone decidedly encouraging.
You have no idea.
-You must accept yourself as you are.
-course.
We drank our glasses of milk, I drink so as not to offend. I mean the laughter of a small group around that mimics Vincent ejaculation taking nasal voice of a moron. Xavier, a little behind, laughed his way. Everything is going well and yet everything goes wrong. We just do not arise the right questions.
When my mother read my novel, she told me she loved the subdued passages, as it was probably what was hardest to write. I said, they often came to me naturally, it was the battles against the goblins or attacks that dungeon had given me the most trouble.
"It is because you just half-hearted," she said, kissing the horizon around the house, which stretched out of sight of suburban houses.
"It's still crazy that you can go home to your mother than your father walk ...
"I think they thought it was better for us to not move too far. More practical.
I hurried on, knowing that I'm late for lunch. Actually I do not know why my father settled here. Xavier and Vincent follow me while I rush into the alley that leads to my old house.
In my little garden brother plays only on penalties, and Xavier, the only one of us who know their way around a ball, will make a few passes with him. I walk around a small mountain behind which smoke escapes feature, and my father is in the process of grilling sausages on the old barbecue.
-You 're late, "he grumbles. You will eat fucking burnt sausages.
explode into nervous laughter, and took my father in my arms while he growls with a vengeance that's not how I'll cajole.
Nobody ever talks about us. We are people of mixed, those who live in quiet places and uneventful. There is no more cons than average, no more bad guys, and we so afraid of the world you.
It is also part of the great army of losers. We live stories but they live more peacefully. It is even less cons than average, because we are less excessive. That's why we're so strong, and that's why we are a haven for people who want to rebuild.
Note: Do not talk about that ever autofellatio
Soon, God joined the strike
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