"Oh, but I'm smoking. I can not give you the best wishes for Easter, not with fire in his hands."
We see them arrive in civilian clothes. Clean shirts, jeans sober. They look healthy
alien to us: the difference between us and them is evident at a glance.
We are on stage and feel the sounds, but our guitarist is missing: it works, 90 km from that stern-faced and bare stage of engineers and foremen. Look at us as we look at a virgin boy trying pathetically to have it stand on end in front of an old hooker butter. Contempt, that hurts me, I respond with vulgarity and ugliness, everything is a crap and do not try to make things more pleasant. Unexpected shit. I'm frustrated, uncomfortable.
front of the great leaders that not even pretend to meet us, to the left of them, always clean, healthy, united and confident after a soundcheck impeccable. We look at how Rocky Apollo looks. It is too much for my inferiority complex, I become angry. I think shit, now your bitch in me drag it to cease, her kiss will be my taste, I'll mark my dick on fire with glowing. But I know that is impossible.
And then after that they are stripped of their civilian clothes and become the stars. They occupy the toilet for over an hour is a riot of shiny black leather pants, lace, studs, leather cuffs, gels, amphibians, platform shoes, sleeveless shirts or network, ties indigo and other trinkets. Plus: makeup, the makeup, a black furrow in the eye area as Daryl Hannah in Blade Runner, dark lips and other details there and then I give a shit to notice. Redefine a new standard for the noun Poser.
The team in this new and colorful dress is even more bold and sporting a complacency that feeds the monster in me. I watch them and I take refuge in the vision of me, flame throwers in their hands, give fire to the huts of a village in Cambodia, while women blackened and children run screaming. It's a paranoia level two, the one that precedes the vision of the hydrogen bomb that destroys the global flora and fauna.
Hours go by, we play for third after us and it's up to them. Thanks to all, is a wonderful evening and an extraordinary opportunity for emerging groups and so on.
Every movement is accurate, precise, controlled, no trimming, no jarring. He kisses the guitar solo after a neat, clean, the drummer stands up and crosses his drumsticks to the sky for captatio benevolentiae , she is enthusiastic, not Roiti seemed to me that before the change of clothes. They stop in the right places to collect the applause. I think to me that Stone in a key moment for the dry throat, I think the people who do not understand when a piece is finished and applauded in mid song, then you tired of being taken aback and stop clapping. Shit.
But for some reason my paranoia set at a level now I see myself with a sniper rifle that pricked the occupant of the car passing in the presidential Elm Street in Dallas. Kennedy has the face of that guitar. Hatred does not scatter helpless humanity in its entirety, but aims only to that pitted face fucking in odor of sanctity.
ends in a blaze, come down from the stage as if everything had been already decided, just like when we were up. Their music is obvious, banal, and the victory will be the same way. What the fuck are we doing everything I mess when you know how it ends. The indigo sky above St. Antiochus.
After the fifth group, Menarche tells us with his usual stiff anger that within ten minutes, a representative from each group will go on stage: we will inform the winner.
I'm going to smoke and drink a sip out of my vermouth, includes the desire to quietly devastating hooliganism good pupil but he feels no obligation to fund public censing of the first class. At the side entrance of the pub a stray nestles against the wall, resigned to the cold has my same look.
while I speak with others, seems nice people and apparently the only one to feel that way. The others do not feel great sympathy for the first class that are just between them, but maybe I'm there I see something more. I see the eternal perpetuation of the mechanism of Paraculo that inevitably triumphs, in their eyes I see the look of a shark to show-biz nearly complete, there is still little, just enough time to enter the front door, and perhaps not even my age, I see the monographs on rock television, everyone talks about how all the great people and great musicians. Pino Scotto crapped them. Pino Scotto incenses them.
Here, we go on stage.
"The winners are the Gethsemane." says, and goes from the stage and hurriedly visibly annoyed but not its heroes, before whose performance as if he enjoyed titillate the prostate. The Gethsemane. On the face of Stephen
pitted Gaeta and all Soulost is painted in disbelief, mouth and eyes open wide as one who hath been realized to have been robbed of what was rightfully hers. It lasts an instant.
not possible. It is not POSSIBLE.
But yes, you prick. Where is your God now?
After giving my sincere congratulations to the winners, I stop to shake hands with him, who has just seen her little world falling apart, and say any two words, only for a better look at his face. Now we are not so different, and suddenly even it looks so much healthier. Perhaps indeed, even before it was just my illusion, maybe I was biased.
Winners remained unaltered at first, smiling a bit 'more and I also have a beer while talking about playing together and math rock. Nobody give a fuck about this shit the competition, in effect, except to them. And suddenly I have a little 'pity.
I understand them. Even to me they said I was the best that I could become whatever I wanted, I was pumped, and for some 'me are drunk. But then I realized, long ago. In a violent way, perhaps, but I realized that not worth a shit. I accepted.
But he continued to drink it, and from time to time he poured a little more 'in the glass. It is now, incredulous, below the podium with me.
While we joke and we exchange addresses, sadly I see them carry their stuff here and there, some of their friends is black and gets angry silence to my brother. It is a sad scene, and I feel guilty even though I hate the fact that in silence.
While I'm about to put the car so I see him not far away, sitting on a few pieces of equipment. His girlfriend comforts him, and is more than what I have: a can of redbull to keep me awake during the return journey. Nothing stroking or endorphin for me, just bitch caffeine. But after all, I have no reason to be comforted. I
hello with his hand and he answers it.
This time I am sincere. And I feel like a worm. ZOMG
Monday, March 31, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
The Cake Boss Fondant Recipe
And my face, overlap with that of Aldo Biscardi
are full of anecdotes, even those with the filthy groupies! 1!
pity that they are boring, so why not lash out against instead cultural associations landing in Sarfregna? After all I already scrambled as if there were no tomorrow with whom I selected for the regional semifinal Wave and Italy must decide whether to pass in the final, you might as well break the shit in these. Especially since it bothers me when I call to register by mail as soon as possible in the contest. I'm angry that I solicit their own, in fact.
I also pissed by default when I read "FREE TO JOIN!" In announcement, and then read later that in order to participate, each member must hold a special paper cost € 5 each. that, among other things, offers fabulous discounts at affiliated restaurants! Stocazzo.
Now, obviously not spending 5 miserable € [1] in itself, but the thin (so to speak) taken for a ride in a little annoyed.
I too deeply into the matter, after all I do not care that much. I'm sorry but that's all comes down to lottery from peanuts. We parade a few coins from his pocket [2] , we offer a couple of critics awards "(sigh, but can you?) Pompous names, a video clip for free, a production with an indie label. Being unable to take risks and guess who has put all the potential in an arena, which throats as well, which may spread shit on each other or lick it (temporarily) the butt each other. Who comes out alive wins the four crap that participants themselves have paid for the purchase of the cards (as in fishing for charity, in fact) and bona leh. Everyone does a good impression, here are the patrons who give a hand to kids willing! It also makes some passing in an interview on radio and maybe crastulo , and so damn human comedy continues and is perpetuated, as it should be.
Well good, but I have already shit the fuck of it. I like the competition, but not under these conditions, to 'I'm the best point to freestyle strokes "tuamamma. At least there is a time to tear Lollino here and there. So it's all rather impersonal, bureaucratic, one must be well made and meet schedules. I would be bored to death at the thought of organizing these sluts, DIOM.
But who gives a fuck, what matters is that I bought a hat!
It seems well scioppata well, since they are not capable.
Tomorrow I have to make a good impression, here:
will return with his tail between his legs and some hair dick in her throat. Sic transit etc..
[1] : then oh, maybe poor in an absolute sense, but given the uselessness of the object in question is equivalent to throwing them in the toilet. And a few others, the money does not grow, however, between my bed sores I have in the ass.
[2] : by the way, now that I contacted sovviene.Un guy just yesterday, in direct opponent multinazionaledellabirra Live Contest, I spoke in glowing terms of this site. In practice, as I understand they sell lists of phone numbers (LOL WUT !?) Of scout and producer famous for like 50 €. Here, I suspect well into the folds of the site, insomnia or not I have little desire to investigate right now (although in my eyes without being a bitch to dig too much IMHO), but I say, the principle itself is perverse. Pay to have numbers scout ? It is clear that there is something wrong, and if it were true, the term "scout" would be rather misused. Who Watches the Watchmen?
are full of anecdotes, even those with the filthy groupies! 1!
pity that they are boring, so why not lash out against instead cultural associations landing in Sarfregna? After all I already scrambled as if there were no tomorrow with whom I selected for the regional semifinal Wave and Italy must decide whether to pass in the final, you might as well break the shit in these. Especially since it bothers me when I call to register by mail as soon as possible in the contest. I'm angry that I solicit their own, in fact.
I also pissed by default when I read "FREE TO JOIN!" In announcement, and then read later that in order to participate, each member must hold a special paper cost € 5 each. that, among other things, offers fabulous discounts at affiliated restaurants! Stocazzo.
Now, obviously not spending 5 miserable € [1] in itself, but the thin (so to speak) taken for a ride in a little annoyed.
I too deeply into the matter, after all I do not care that much. I'm sorry but that's all comes down to lottery from peanuts. We parade a few coins from his pocket [2] , we offer a couple of critics awards "(sigh, but can you?) Pompous names, a video clip for free, a production with an indie label. Being unable to take risks and guess who has put all the potential in an arena, which throats as well, which may spread shit on each other or lick it (temporarily) the butt each other. Who comes out alive wins the four crap that participants themselves have paid for the purchase of the cards (as in fishing for charity, in fact) and bona leh. Everyone does a good impression, here are the patrons who give a hand to kids willing! It also makes some passing in an interview on radio and maybe crastulo , and so damn human comedy continues and is perpetuated, as it should be.
Well good, but I have already shit the fuck of it. I like the competition, but not under these conditions, to 'I'm the best point to freestyle strokes "tuamamma. At least there is a time to tear Lollino here and there. So it's all rather impersonal, bureaucratic, one must be well made and meet schedules. I would be bored to death at the thought of organizing these sluts, DIOM.
But who gives a fuck, what matters is that I bought a hat!
It seems well scioppata well, since they are not capable.
Tomorrow I have to make a good impression, here:
will return with his tail between his legs and some hair dick in her throat. Sic transit etc..
[1] : then oh, maybe poor in an absolute sense, but given the uselessness of the object in question is equivalent to throwing them in the toilet. And a few others, the money does not grow, however, between my bed sores I have in the ass.
[2] : by the way, now that I contacted sovviene.Un guy just yesterday, in direct opponent multinazionaledellabirra Live Contest, I spoke in glowing terms of this site. In practice, as I understand they sell lists of phone numbers (LOL WUT !?) Of scout and producer famous for like 50 €. Here, I suspect well into the folds of the site, insomnia or not I have little desire to investigate right now (although in my eyes without being a bitch to dig too much IMHO), but I say, the principle itself is perverse. Pay to have numbers scout ? It is clear that there is something wrong, and if it were true, the term "scout" would be rather misused. Who Watches the Watchmen?
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
O P Agarwal Iit Chemistry
YOU TO WRITE THE PÆNNA should be dipped in the rainbow
is a periodaccio.
Not that much actually happens, but always a periodaccio remains. It is some solace to the idea of day that I have invented one of those phobias that are (or were perhaps boh) fashionable among Boccalon in America.
me some solace in that seem to match the "symptoms", and so justify my stupid behavior when it is necessary to use the tool that would cause my phobia: the telephone.
telefonofobia This is almost certainly a bullshit non-existent, but it is clear that with this means of communication I have always had big problems. As a child, for whatever reason, when I heard the phone ringing immediately thought of a disaster, family deaths, car accidents, things so. (Yes, I was a child dark and I believe I was an emo in power for a long time)
The ringing of the phone caused me tachycardia and usually when I felt I holed up in the bathroom to read old books as I melted into the Mickey Mouse crap. That is, until adolescence, with a progressive decrease in intestinal spasms, but this thing has never disappeared entirely say. A slight increase in heart rate reflected the still, although I think it's just a reflex action due to the memory of childhood fears, which sometimes could be seen (of necessity) implemented. Obviously, a relative dies, and somewhere with a great misfortune that is communicated by telephone. What the fuck. Fortunately
this age of amazing technology, you can see from their phones even the caller's telephone number! OMG! This marvel of technology greatly helps the fools like me paranoid, frightened by the effect surprise that those bitches bric-gray with the receiver and the word SIP reserved. Dark times.
The problem, however, shows no sign of disappearing when you dial the number and call me. Leaving the field pussies, they can always be flattered by SMS (if it fits), but I certainly can not arrange a meeting with a prospective employer with a messaggino. The e-mail ok, as long as the laws, but with the curriculum vitae that I find ridiculous (there are almost scored a few months of odd jobs here and there Black, 3 days in the country and little else) I can not impress a guy who releases his precious money in return for my miserable time. So, I say, it is best to call and speak to us. Ah well, so yes that impressed him.
I am a piece of Marcantonio of one meter and eighty-five, weighing 85 kg and overall they are not even bad to see me, unless I wear the shirt of the worm that attempts to make love to a crisp. But when I call on the phone, the speaker imagines me as Woody Allen who masturbates sitting on his stool. I stutter, I disappear, I create awkward silences, I let him talk as if I had written him WELCOME. One with a little common sense not to rely upon voice heard by leaving your phone even the collection of dry leaves from the courtyard.
But then I got the job. Not that it showed off a particular speaking skills or who have been terribly sympathetic and engaging, but at least I broke silence by fucking retarded and, more importantly, I re called. It was the second time after a terrible call, maybe you have the courage to try again after the pathetic attempt at a week before he did think the boss that they are in fact interested in the place. That is a serious little person no time wasters. Whatever the reason, the work I do. If I am doing well and do not make a fool I have money too, and from there to London will be the step short. But better to think of one thing at a time.
type, for one thing, that I will have occupied 13 hours a day, though not continuous. Or probably I will have little time to play if I did not calculate the thousandth time. But also strive to stay on these things is useless.
I have not written here for a while but started doing it every day, then stop. I myself am bored to read this shit.
There is much interesting to say.
except perhaps the history of money with that other group of Feb. 29, actually a story to be assholes to me to be funny that would end with a good fight, stabbing and even a death, but unfortunately we are a generation of pappemolli and then it's over as the classic story by assholes rosichini unworthy even of a short film on QOOB. Nobody did anything, nobody said anything. Life begins and ends in the street on msn. And the blog will describe the dynamics when the phenomena are now ancient history and do not give a fuck no more. The
write just as liberating catharsis on.
The facts: Some time ago
K organizes a guy, Tony, an evening. Pure routine for a group. But for us it is already a great achievement to be able to speak civilly to someone and to agree to play together. So we are particularly pleased with this opportunity.
Only a few days before something goes wrong, Tony tells us that his drummer has run caught the one and from that moment, feeling guilty, decides to organize his replacement. It goes well, you do. After several holes in the water gives someone the go, and I say to them "ok, however, bring the bass amp, which we need." Who does not bring anything not even pick cash. Only benza and a little more, no fifty fifty. We have done so for years, even without the Benz. It's obvious. For some reason, however, remarked not, because I feel bad about money still uncertain. Or because inside me is a piece of dried shit on purpose and wanted to unleash all this drama lolloso, who knows. The fact is that after the ok initial, 2 days of the show, the guys tell me that the bass player is gone and they do not know what to do, and so no amps down. But they have a replacement, and they want to play the same. Also on this occasion, although I have often wondered if maybe it was better not cancel everything, I did not mention the money. Stronzone Bello, eh? Lulz! But I did it on purpose. Another thing: you are recording, and then arrive at 9 in the past. ERGO: the equipment we carry and assemble all of us. A point I'm talking about money is pure pleonasm, and for some reason it seems so obvious.
the big day arrives, we all assemble at 5 in a couple of trips from the base to local and back, the second group as well. The others arrive without even cables with a guitar and bad, that screwdriver through the room will be restored to K. At the appointed hour play (first) and then fade away into the starry night to drink their light wine in PET bottles with their friends. During the second concert of these if the melt, but not before entrusting me with the task of recovering the money for them . Oh-oh. As soon as I say, half a syllable that have already disappeared and I am stuck, so to speak. Shit.
Then it's up to us. A good concert. The cone of a case has been shattered before (I do not know when) and the soothing sound of my voice, filtered from the body, like the raucous cawing of a flock of seagulls who gather near a barge waste directly into the sunset. Moreover it is intermittent. It is three and the bulk of the people if it is spun, and the survivors look at us as if to say "we hope that we have made so far remain bleak for the trots, porcodio. Will be satisfied. As well as the squalid trots, also begin to argue among ourselves on stage amid the songs. While I do not sing K away from the microphone to scream to fuck off, in response to his orders to stand still while singing not to stress the cord in his unsoldered (not true, then we found out). My brother laughs from behind the battery and / or in outburst. Andrea plays professionally and silent. Around three quarters of this beautiful Karim show off all without notice, because they can not even formulate a thought because of the intermittent croak out loud in his ears, in front of people terrified.
A nice shit, but luckily the owner of the restaurant is busy counting the money while fiddling with his peyote and is not aware of collapse, then an hour later, surprisingly, also releases the pay. I say tentatively, "Um, and for others?" To which I am overwhelmed with empty cans, banana peels and small furry animals. The message seems clear to me. At this point, the ending is pretty obvious. Start the "war of the 30 denier" and seems long and bloody and instead starts and ends on msn and on the phone and everything fades away soon. Boredom, balls, threats, and other crap, label of "thieves" stuck on me. My part was 25 € and more or less everyone has pulled out of 30 for dinner, drink (no beer on the house) and rode the tools and the people here and there, plus I was on site and in the immediate vicinity for 10 -11 hours. In addition there were also unpleasant and do not have any shit, and I have also taken them to the boy. I also keep a grudge as he likes, I do not want to justify myself to anyone with a dick, especially since this time I'm right. Saving for the effort when I was dead wrong.
Bah, enough, I wanted to write that "There is a country for old men "(since Monday) is a ficatona but I was the only room to think, plus I was terrified when watching from Chigurh instead of taking a liking as he deserved, or as I thought I would.
am an old man, there is no place for me in this crazy, crazy world .
is a periodaccio.
Not that much actually happens, but always a periodaccio remains. It is some solace to the idea of day that I have invented one of those phobias that are (or were perhaps boh) fashionable among Boccalon in America.
me some solace in that seem to match the "symptoms", and so justify my stupid behavior when it is necessary to use the tool that would cause my phobia: the telephone.
telefonofobia This is almost certainly a bullshit non-existent, but it is clear that with this means of communication I have always had big problems. As a child, for whatever reason, when I heard the phone ringing immediately thought of a disaster, family deaths, car accidents, things so. (Yes, I was a child dark and I believe I was an emo in power for a long time)
The ringing of the phone caused me tachycardia and usually when I felt I holed up in the bathroom to read old books as I melted into the Mickey Mouse crap. That is, until adolescence, with a progressive decrease in intestinal spasms, but this thing has never disappeared entirely say. A slight increase in heart rate reflected the still, although I think it's just a reflex action due to the memory of childhood fears, which sometimes could be seen (of necessity) implemented. Obviously, a relative dies, and somewhere with a great misfortune that is communicated by telephone. What the fuck. Fortunately
this age of amazing technology, you can see from their phones even the caller's telephone number! OMG! This marvel of technology greatly helps the fools like me paranoid, frightened by the effect surprise that those bitches bric-gray with the receiver and the word SIP reserved. Dark times.
The problem, however, shows no sign of disappearing when you dial the number and call me. Leaving the field pussies, they can always be flattered by SMS (if it fits), but I certainly can not arrange a meeting with a prospective employer with a messaggino. The e-mail ok, as long as the laws, but with the curriculum vitae that I find ridiculous (there are almost scored a few months of odd jobs here and there Black, 3 days in the country and little else) I can not impress a guy who releases his precious money in return for my miserable time. So, I say, it is best to call and speak to us. Ah well, so yes that impressed him.
I am a piece of Marcantonio of one meter and eighty-five, weighing 85 kg and overall they are not even bad to see me, unless I wear the shirt of the worm that attempts to make love to a crisp. But when I call on the phone, the speaker imagines me as Woody Allen who masturbates sitting on his stool. I stutter, I disappear, I create awkward silences, I let him talk as if I had written him WELCOME. One with a little common sense not to rely upon voice heard by leaving your phone even the collection of dry leaves from the courtyard.
But then I got the job. Not that it showed off a particular speaking skills or who have been terribly sympathetic and engaging, but at least I broke silence by fucking retarded and, more importantly, I re called. It was the second time after a terrible call, maybe you have the courage to try again after the pathetic attempt at a week before he did think the boss that they are in fact interested in the place. That is a serious little person no time wasters. Whatever the reason, the work I do. If I am doing well and do not make a fool I have money too, and from there to London will be the step short. But better to think of one thing at a time.
type, for one thing, that I will have occupied 13 hours a day, though not continuous. Or probably I will have little time to play if I did not calculate the thousandth time. But also strive to stay on these things is useless.
I have not written here for a while but started doing it every day, then stop. I myself am bored to read this shit.
There is much interesting to say.
except perhaps the history of money with that other group of Feb. 29, actually a story to be assholes to me to be funny that would end with a good fight, stabbing and even a death, but unfortunately we are a generation of pappemolli and then it's over as the classic story by assholes rosichini unworthy even of a short film on QOOB. Nobody did anything, nobody said anything. Life begins and ends in the street on msn. And the blog will describe the dynamics when the phenomena are now ancient history and do not give a fuck no more. The
write just as liberating catharsis on.
The facts: Some time ago
K organizes a guy, Tony, an evening. Pure routine for a group. But for us it is already a great achievement to be able to speak civilly to someone and to agree to play together. So we are particularly pleased with this opportunity.
Only a few days before something goes wrong, Tony tells us that his drummer has run caught the one and from that moment, feeling guilty, decides to organize his replacement. It goes well, you do. After several holes in the water gives someone the go, and I say to them "ok, however, bring the bass amp, which we need." Who does not bring anything not even pick cash. Only benza and a little more, no fifty fifty. We have done so for years, even without the Benz. It's obvious. For some reason, however, remarked not, because I feel bad about money still uncertain. Or because inside me is a piece of dried shit on purpose and wanted to unleash all this drama lolloso, who knows. The fact is that after the ok initial, 2 days of the show, the guys tell me that the bass player is gone and they do not know what to do, and so no amps down. But they have a replacement, and they want to play the same. Also on this occasion, although I have often wondered if maybe it was better not cancel everything, I did not mention the money. Stronzone Bello, eh? Lulz! But I did it on purpose. Another thing: you are recording, and then arrive at 9 in the past. ERGO: the equipment we carry and assemble all of us. A point I'm talking about money is pure pleonasm, and for some reason it seems so obvious.
the big day arrives, we all assemble at 5 in a couple of trips from the base to local and back, the second group as well. The others arrive without even cables with a guitar and bad, that screwdriver through the room will be restored to K. At the appointed hour play (first) and then fade away into the starry night to drink their light wine in PET bottles with their friends. During the second concert of these if the melt, but not before entrusting me with the task of recovering the money for them . Oh-oh. As soon as I say, half a syllable that have already disappeared and I am stuck, so to speak. Shit.
Then it's up to us. A good concert. The cone of a case has been shattered before (I do not know when) and the soothing sound of my voice, filtered from the body, like the raucous cawing of a flock of seagulls who gather near a barge waste directly into the sunset. Moreover it is intermittent. It is three and the bulk of the people if it is spun, and the survivors look at us as if to say "we hope that we have made so far remain bleak for the trots, porcodio. Will be satisfied. As well as the squalid trots, also begin to argue among ourselves on stage amid the songs. While I do not sing K away from the microphone to scream to fuck off, in response to his orders to stand still while singing not to stress the cord in his unsoldered (not true, then we found out). My brother laughs from behind the battery and / or in outburst. Andrea plays professionally and silent. Around three quarters of this beautiful Karim show off all without notice, because they can not even formulate a thought because of the intermittent croak out loud in his ears, in front of people terrified.
A nice shit, but luckily the owner of the restaurant is busy counting the money while fiddling with his peyote and is not aware of collapse, then an hour later, surprisingly, also releases the pay. I say tentatively, "Um, and for others?" To which I am overwhelmed with empty cans, banana peels and small furry animals. The message seems clear to me. At this point, the ending is pretty obvious. Start the "war of the 30 denier" and seems long and bloody and instead starts and ends on msn and on the phone and everything fades away soon. Boredom, balls, threats, and other crap, label of "thieves" stuck on me. My part was 25 € and more or less everyone has pulled out of 30 for dinner, drink (no beer on the house) and rode the tools and the people here and there, plus I was on site and in the immediate vicinity for 10 -11 hours. In addition there were also unpleasant and do not have any shit, and I have also taken them to the boy. I also keep a grudge as he likes, I do not want to justify myself to anyone with a dick, especially since this time I'm right. Saving for the effort when I was dead wrong.
Bah, enough, I wanted to write that "There is a country for old men "(since Monday) is a ficatona but I was the only room to think, plus I was terrified when watching from Chigurh instead of taking a liking as he deserved, or as I thought I would.
am an old man, there is no place for me in this crazy, crazy world .
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)