It’s raining. All the women are drinking medium cappuccinos because if you go another size bigger the porcelain can’t hold it and nobody wants to kill time with a paper cup. It’s raining and because here we have jealous gods and shaky skies, the girls are all in their best and battling the wind. It’s raining, so my eyelashes, little black whips
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it's like a paragraph of enigmas teling tales of sad stories.
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