Anything On Abortions

An evening (among others) at the Bar Des Amis

Ash, Pillow and me what we gonna do now that is fart, Ash deuspi open, well, we need only go to Pillow, since there nothing else to do. Starting a collective movement - like the vast Soph is with us, with his Slavic cheekbones and his voice hoarse bass sexy, tipsy though, I did not blunder.

We cross-Cyr Cyr - damn, that must make that area a while there, they have already finished storing the bar - who asked if there would be no chance of coke, he said Candre no, but cons, well, take that, she spins her pocket half white, he will repay it one of these days, unless this is already returning the favor, allowed there with his mates. Slight gauhe in the cross street, crowded street Colombette is will not wait to be home for Pillow banging track, anyway? Damn, we should have gone in the stairwell of the building the bar, Ash still has the key to the time when she lived above There is never anyone in there besides the trash container, perfect for plotting.
A hundred yards away, a beautiful bright red jalopy, a hood, it's great, it's a red hood, go hop! White on red is a bit like white snow, but in reverse, too cool. Ash deposits a small pile of powder on the metallic paint, vital card, I'm not sure the speed that car bodies to do good, actually, but who cares, Mr. producer, it is not for us, this car ... Soph berates us as what is nawak there, in the street, and it is true that in the street, not a street, but at the same time he is two and a half hours in the morning and n 'is someone who goes and who cares and do they really exist people? Everyone goes on his line, which rolled with a note that a portion of McDonald's straw that is still waiting in a pocket, not Sophie, it's not his thing, Soph is more in alcohol. With one finger that does not like waste, helped in one eye scrutineer, I retrieve the scattered fragments of altered consciousness on the cover.
Hey, Pato (the owner of the Bar Des Amis, I remind those who do not) joined us, he is there with his bike trying to mumble with his expatriate Marseilles accent (I always assumed, without seeking to know really, he was barred from there because of a history of dope), that he often grumble. But then, well, certainly he has a good reason, because, Ash, it becomes anything there, just out of the harbor he came upon Cyr-Cyr in the process of typing on a container beams recycled paper, and now, not even two blocks away, the dream team on a hood of car, you may still be a little more discreet, shit, whatever. Coherent discourse, but it does well even laugh when he goes back on his bike to go home, boss promised the next time it will take a less conspicuous car, will have to consider decamping. Soph
from his side towards the center, leaving us wide-eyed, full extra-party, the ball chemical directly typed into the target bonus, wow. He may be nearly three hours now, it's great day in the head, because everything is wonderfully clear. Go hop, house, and in this case, the house is in Pillow. Anyway it's dead here, we will return in this box. Three streets

fall further, instead of the church and its Colombette immensely ugly, you come across Julius Dreadlock and Cobra, two members of Brahimfeedback, a group with whom you play regularly and we see more regularly 's self-Maraver liver in bars. They come to a closure, like us, and are departing from a friend we do not know, and right now it's okay, yes, they are in the studio but tonight it is still hard, and about, not plan for the DC by any chance? No, but hey, we need only make a line of speed on a windowsill, it's very smooth stone or old or very regular, not serious, they're underway, we are the masters the world is not the local topography that will stop us .... Something in my head seems to tell me something, a communication between hemispheres that I find hard to decipher, there are the words "place of Colombette" and "corner fliquer" and indeed it is probably the car cops to west from my field of vision that sparked this thought brilliant. I point out quite quietly - not in fact, not too quietly, indeed, that "Conde, Condé, Conde! "Ash and sweeps with a sweep of the entire stock perf amphetamines ready to be charged in motorway sections, go hop leaves, take that, it will do you good ...
Obviously, flicmobile stop, vaguely trying to look for anything, but between our eyes and our heads exploded not very clear peaks, dread, it's a lost cause in the ass. 'Identity check ladies and gentlemen ... "

Everyone politely although a lot little feverishly identity card or driving license, except me, since I have neither one nor the other on hand, but I have my credit card cons sir officer, there's my name above, and my date of validity as well.

Looking slightly amused but unfathomable scornful of the judicial police officer.

Is it because we do not return because they saw Ash chuck it all, or because we are not quite tanned, he is still vaguely that they check n ' Patrice Alegre was not and is barred, relief, phew.

all fours in the leaves dead, seek not see much hope if we can find something, hey hey I found the pouch ah shit it is empty ... Frankly, it's disgusting, swing speed like that of the wild, while I wear my good gaff used batteries for recycling ...

Two grams, it was cheap, it was really a case, ordinary evening.

Adult Plastic Pants And Nappies

vox1969 @ 2005-05-21T23: 22:00

Today I turned 15 in my head and I decided to become a rock star. In my head because my birthday is only three months, but that is okay, anyway, 15 years is zero, no symbolism in there, but it's still better than 14, 14 is all rotten, I do not like that number. I liked 12 and 13, 14 stinks, 15 a little less, I fear 16, I think I'm fine love 17 and 19, actually. I'll have to look at these stories one day numerology. The lottery, I'm sure to lose, "1 more day c'st one day less," we win every time, by cons.

You tell me, why would jump to 15 years live like that, no transitions, no candles, no gifts? Because a fad. At 14, can not be a bitch, a slut, a little whore, a groupie, and I think that's what I decided to be number one phase of my plan. But I will speak of the plan. Maybe I should put a capital letter: Plan. At 14 years, we have more beautiful breasts mom (in volume, not in numbers, at this level I'm in the most absolute normality), black hair between her thighs one day I shave, ceremoniously there is still the baby of her dad and her mom. Not that I have anything against my parents, spit in the face of his parents is for losers (loser? Loser? I heard that term today, I liked it right away, I do not know why, I will have information on that, but I feel like an affinity with that word, elective affinity, probably), my parents are very good, not boring and all , but here I'm tired of being the baby, even dressed in black I'm baby-grand-daughter, I want to build myself a great girl. It will ask for work, because I know I'm not a big girl, all around me bitches think they are women, but no matter how they grow, without a tutor, I'll show them what I'm made, a valuable wood, smoldering fires, a bit delayed, no way I burns me like they trying to show up to their asses and suck cocks hurt when parents leave them with Kevin or any other idiot, France, if you ask me ass and my mouth will require that you deserve, so thou dost, but later when I decided me.

Sorry if I'm getting mixed up, it seems they call it "stream of consciousness' in literature is not the chest that it would teach me, how fortunate to have a nice library not far from home so - I have borrowed James Joyce's Ulysses, because when I asked them what they like Irish writer, that's what they responded mechanically, before changing his mind and tell me that no, it's probably too difficult for me - asshole I'll shit in his mouth, I learned to read at four years and I never stopped since, poor job - so I took you anyway, Mr. Joyce. They were right, it is still too difficult for me, but I felt that behind the line of words, one day, I passionately love this book - in short, the stream of consciousness, he was told to Joyce and I think things are going well in my writing, as I think, I shall reread it all later. Why Ireland for aileurs? Mom has a lot of U2 discs (the discs are stored separately from my parents, that's better, actually), and this video of Bono with his cup of football remained waving an Irish flag and it makes me want to go over there even though they are probably all alcoholics, like, I wonder what part of the world is not populated by alcoholics, may be here, less booze, rather then less than what I could look elsewhere, though I have not seen much This also not true anyway. I turn on the radio, was the hour when Rascal made his show on Radio FMR, always with the same piece as a generic one that is "Born to Lose", it means born to lose but it's also "born in Toulouse, phonetically, tip, pun, and yes, it is in Toulouse, well, that's probably why I like the word loser - definitely, loser, then, by dint of listening to the show on Wednesday afternoon or when I come home course earlier ... But where is what I have heard elsewhere, that word again? Probably at school.