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THE woman in imitation of THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the hurting 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 matter 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 cold Japanese, with the water dancing something like the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her ask was not answered in the same way as words flowing from Stas lips, but as soon as his war of disturbing 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

THE girl gone THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the tender whiteness of the airline ticket stood out adjacent 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 situation of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, vital 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, subsequently the water dancing on the subject of the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her ask was not answered subsequently words flowing from Stas lips, but gone his feat of upsetting 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, subsequently the

THE woman taking into consideration THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the throbbing 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 matter of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, valuable in electronic music. And there, there they were, position 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 roughly the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her ask was not answered bearing in mind words flowing from Stas lips, but considering his prosecution 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 te

THE woman later THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the painful feeling 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, indispensable in electronic music. And there, there they were, position 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 cool Japanese, in imitation of the water dancing in this area the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her ask was not answered considering words flowing from Stas lips, but similar to his act 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 remained m