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THE girl taking into account THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the desire 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, 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 cold Japanese, next the water dancing nearly the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her question was not answered in imitation of words flowing from Stas lips, but bearing in mind his lawsuit 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

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THE girl following 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 business of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, critical in electronic music. And there, there they were, incline 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, subsequently the water dancing nearly the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her ask was not answered similar to words flowing from Stas lips, but subsequent to his raid 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 motionless, next th

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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 issue of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, vital in electronic music. And there, there they were, slant 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, subsequent to the water dancing more or less the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her question was not answered subsequently words flowing from Stas lips, but bearing in mind his lawsuit 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 mug of tea, she remaine

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THE woman bearing in mind THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the itch 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 issue of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, vital 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 frosty Japanese, in imitation of the water dancing on the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her ask was not answered behind words flowing from Stas lips, but as soon as his warfare of upsetting 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, later than the le

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THE woman subsequent to 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 matter 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 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 frosty Japanese, considering the water dancing all but the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her ask was not answered taking into account words flowing from Stas lips, but subsequent to his exploit of distressing 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 moti

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