like when we were trying to sell roses to the Pakistanis. smoked and pages of poems that we had finished the maps and that they cost too little to the Filters distrubutore there gave the rest. like when you were a factory for attacks on my mood. What kind words you left my processes in all the stations whose purpose and sacrifice our beauty and our little poetry. to let our young age 'went to hell and sent us to whores. we excommunicated each other out of boredom and for fun or because 'contrary to the membership. resigned to resist. despite the trains priests, fathers old fags the breathalyzer How High the shit bad luck drugs and life.
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