It was a place like many others, but still felt its uniqueness.
Brooklyn. NY.
place where the walls are decorated with murals of Biggie like this verse Kweli'ego.
We've talked about a few queues, but it's not because I do not remember any of the words that have died that night. I just remember her mouth and her potoczystego timbre, rhythmic flow, as if I was sitting with his nose to the glass przylejonym and saw everything, but this could not participate. As the narrator in "Breakfast at Tiffany'go." Everything began to melt around the walls, tables, air ... Most of it. As if everything was one big astral projection.
staring at her red lips, sat with his hand propping his head. But it was not fatigue. It ceased to exist. Only those open mouth with which he catches himself at the cinema projection. Stupor.
Strike a pose! Look at me, the biggest since Corcky'ego ritard Tatcher'a. The following oplotło
me like cigarette smoke, dictated every blink of an eye, and pulsing, growing admiration. This is one of the things that become a natural course of things. As an unconditional reflex. As night wet dreams. Damn! Everything began to shine. Reset. Reset. Millions of resets per minute.
I thought about what I read in Bukowski. "How does it feel to be" the most beautiful girl in town "and touch his legs, stroking his own belly?". I grew up in the area step. Or maybe it was a little earlier?
Within seconds, I forgot to millions of definitions that say if they were zloopowane. There was no longer in me sentences beginning with: dirty, existential, cheap, pessimistic, decadent. I felt that they could therefore rob me of the light. How cliche.
Pop! - [Music & Lyrics OST # 01] Goes My Heart
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