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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
A surreal short story.

Submitted: July 20, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 20, 2011



As enchanting and extraordinary as it might seem, we are

going to tell how is it possible the remainder of this epilogue

(even though nobody never talks about it).

There are moments during the year when the young folks

suffer out loud, but never like the “ONE”, who can

moderately disgust us (...but what a nice story).

If he gets in his mind to add this and that, or to exhibit

without purpose the Windowness (a random wonder), or

once again the “ONE” that can moderately disgust us; it's

always him (there are men that cannot read).

Light fingers of heavy arms, that know and remember (do

you get it?!), and then they're one faster than the other, they

don't resist but for ears plus nostrils are arranged, and by any

chance, are they mine? (one time while I was shearing, I

moved myself to my right so much so that it became my


Fattest like the serious intent of exceeding in beauty ( so

Pino says!), and sensationally looking towards China that

turns and turns again grazing Africa, with his dwellers that

I've known for years, and also are racial attempts just like the

super sophisticated red instruments (better to dine than to

read, in Tuscany of course).

Anyway, expect everything, since from now on I will choose

for you; please forgive us for resembling a dream (even if I

write it with six letters the meaning won't change), and if I

allowed myself to do it with such emotion it's because I saw

four times in a row a mailman woman with a philadelphian

bike (there are men that don't know how to write...from top

to bottom maybe!).

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