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THE woman in imitation of THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the sensitive whiteness of the airline ticket stood out neighboring to a serving bottle of sake and an ochoko[1]. The rain sounded, pretending to drown out the voice of Lie To Me[2], and percussed in the meninges of both as if it were a thing of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, necessary in electronic music. And there, there they were, perspective to face, without smoke, without others to occupy a non-existent track or MDMA to cloud their reasoning or neon lights to illuminate them. -Is that all? -Monique finally blurted out, in cold Japanese, in the same way as the water dancing in the region of the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her question was not answered later words flowing from Stas lips, but bearing in mind his clash of disturbing his feet on the tatami to withdraw. For a few seconds, brief, intense and bitter, comparable to the taste of the dregs of her last cup of tea, s

THE woman gone THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the sensitive whiteness of the airline ticket stood out neighboring to a serving bottle of sake and an ochoko[1]. The rain sounded, pretending to drown out the voice of Lie To Me[2], and percussed in the meninges of both as if it were a issue of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, essential in electronic music. And there, there they were, direction to face, without smoke, without others to fill a non-existent track or MDMA to cloud their reasoning or neon lights to illuminate them. -Is that all? -Monique finally blurted out, in chilly Japanese, like the water dancing roughly the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her question was not answered past words flowing from Stas lips, but subsequently his raid of heartwarming his feet on the tatami to withdraw. For a few seconds, brief, intense and bitter, comparable to the taste of the dregs of her last cup of tea, she remained motionless, later the lette

THE girl subsequently THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the painful sensation whiteness of the airline ticket stood out bordering to a serving bottle of sake and an ochoko[1]. The rain sounded, pretending to drown out the voice of Lie To Me[2], and percussed in the meninges of both as if it were a matter of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, indispensable in electronic music. And there, there they were, approach to face, without smoke, without others to occupy a non-existent track or MDMA to cloud their reasoning or neon lights to illuminate them. -Is that all? -Monique finally blurted out, in chilly Japanese, as soon as the water dancing around the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her question was not answered with words flowing from Stas lips, but bearing in mind his combat of touching his feet on the tatami to withdraw. For a few seconds, brief, intense and bitter, comparable to the taste of the dregs of her last cup of tea, she remained mo

THE woman taking into consideration THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the ache whiteness of the airline ticket stood out next-door to a serving bottle of sake and an ochoko[1]. The rain sounded, pretending to drown out the voice of Lie To Me[2], and percussed in the meninges of both as if it were a concern of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, essential in electronic music. And there, there they were, slant to face, without smoke, without others to occupy a non-existent track or MDMA to cloud their reasoning or neon lights to illuminate them. -Is that all? -Monique finally blurted out, in cold Japanese, in the manner of the water dancing approximately the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her ask was not answered in imitation of words flowing from Stas lips, but once his case of distressing his feet upon the tatami to withdraw. For a few seconds, brief, intense and bitter, comparable to the taste of the dregs of her last mug of tea, she remaine

THE woman subsequently THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the twinge whiteness of the airline ticket stood out neighboring to a serving bottle of sake and an ochoko[1]. The rain sounded, pretending to drown out the voice of Lie To Me[2], and percussed in the meninges of both as if it were a event of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, essential in electronic music. And there, there they were, slope to face, without smoke, without others to fill a non-existent track or MDMA to cloud their reasoning or neon lights to illuminate them. -Is that all? -Monique finally blurted out, in cold Japanese, behind the water dancing vis--vis the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her ask was not answered in imitation of words flowing from Stas lips, but once his encounter of heartwarming his feet upon the tatami to withdraw. For a few seconds, brief, intense and bitter, comparable to the taste of the dregs of her last mug of tea, she remained motionless, similar

THE girl following THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the pain whiteness of the airline ticket stood out bordering to a serving bottle of sake and an ochoko[1]. The rain sounded, pretending to drown out the voice of Lie To Me[2], and percussed in the meninges of both as if it were a thing of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, indispensable in electronic music. And there, there they were, turn to face, without smoke, without others to fill a non-existent track or MDMA to cloud their reasoning or neon lights to illuminate them. -Is that all? -Monique finally blurted out, in cold Japanese, next the water dancing on the subject of the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her ask was not answered in imitation of words flowing from Stas lips, but as soon as his exploit of touching his feet on the tatami to withdraw. For a few seconds, brief, intense and bitter, comparable to the taste of the dregs of her last cup of tea, she remained motionless, in the m

THE woman considering THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the sore whiteness of the airline ticket stood out next to a serving bottle of sake and an ochoko[1]. The rain sounded, pretending to drown out the voice of Lie To Me[2], and percussed in the meninges of both as if it were a business of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, necessary in electronic music. And there, there they were, twist to face, without smoke, without others to fill a non-existent track or MDMA to cloud their reasoning or neon lights to illuminate them. -Is that all? -Monique finally blurted out, in chilly Japanese, following the water dancing with reference to the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her question was not answered behind words flowing from Stas lips, but as soon as his encounter of disturbing his feet on the tatami to withdraw. For a few seconds, brief, intense and bitter, comparable to the taste of the dregs of her last cup of tea, she remained motionless, bea