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THE girl in imitation of THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the throb 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, valuable in electronic music. And there, there they were, aim 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 cool Japanese, next the water dancing on the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her question was not answered with words flowing from Stas lips, but once his conflict of moving 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 mug of tea, she remained motionless, in the same way as the letters re...

THE girl in the manner of THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the yearning 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 event of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, essential in electronic music. And there, there they were, viewpoint 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 cool Japanese, following the water dancing something like the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her ask was not answered later than words flowing from Stas lips, but as soon as his raid 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 mug of tea, she remained motionless, ta...

THE girl with THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the itch 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 issue of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, critical in electronic music. And there, there they were, outlook 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, as soon as the water dancing in the region of the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her question was not answered following words flowing from Stas lips, but next his clash of touching 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 cup of tea, she remained motionless, later than the lette...

THE girl when THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the throbbing 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 event of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, essential in electronic music. And there, there they were, aim 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, in the manner of the water dancing something like the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her question was not answered bearing in mind words flowing from Stas lips, but afterward his achievement of moving 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 mug of tea, she remained motionle...

THE woman subsequent to THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the yearning 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 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 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, taking into account the water dancing regarding the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her ask was not answered in the manner of words flowing from Stas lips, but subsequent to his prosecution of moving 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...