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| lyrics, transition, teeshirthell.com, speech, spanish, pregnancy, costa rican, 1930s, serbia, news weekly, watch my life, photo, gigglechick.com, velvet acid christ music song lyrics, beck, m, your, bc, piercings, seattle, | Within striking distance of love, you want to believe. Instead, screwing the erin patrice bennett cap on the tube of KY, this man tells you how, leaning over the brown sofa, he had fucked a erin patrice bennett Colombian architect who no longer replies to his poetic e-mails. Now, there’s an oxymoron, you think—poetry and e-mail. Then the man suggests you turn over. It’s then that you spot a photograph of his son, a young man hanging on the side of a erin patrice bennett train carriage. He sports a T-shirt worn over a sweatshirt, and his shoulders slope. Over lunch you’ve learned that this son rides trains up and down California. My son the hobo, the man said. You always thought of hobos as men whose wives had left them, men in stinking overcoats and dirt in the creases of their faces and tennis shoes. The man said he is sure his son does not take drugs, and you hoped the man was gaining some solace from that assumption. You learned more about the son, who looks like the front man of a Sunset Boulevard band. |
Best Mature Paysites
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| It was her chance to make an adult decision. She decided photo to stay back in Jerusalem and graduate from university. The man had been drizzling liqueur on a glass of cherries as he talked about his daughter. There are no photographs of Rebecca in the house. There is only a painting of her—black and wild frizzy hair, a long nose, laughing eyes, her skin darker than you imagined. She strikes photo you as a person who could be at photo home anywhere. Rebecca’s father asked why, despite the poverty, education is so central to you Indians and you had started to say something about survival and focus and you stopped because all you wanted was to get fucked, roughly, and maybe find love. Carrying the plates to the sink you heard the squeal of a neighbor’s child. At first you thought it was some bird, but there are no birds in a Los Angeles suburb. And maybe if this man uses more fingers right now, you believe it is possible to get there, that blissful place where wanton fucking is supposed to get you. |
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