Typical Monday-Girl. Loaded with Sunday-market batteries. Her rastahair looked like half eaten cables. That fried chicken came to my door saying " I'm not your piece of meat." She took the photos and Elvis - love songs - collection. I had time to hide "Harum scarum" album inside the oven. I know she will be missing the window view, which opens the bridge of whales, and fishy pond beside it. Now I'm too square to enjoy pickpocketing games. It's hard to create new religion out of basketball...Am I talking to master's league...Or is Jesus listening?...
State of open stories
Ihku_Fantsula
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