Soooo, Πραγματίκες είναί πολά καλά . I fell ill on Friday and now my chest rattles like a caged bird, sans la chanson. I saw the doctor man today and he asks, "what's the problem, whitney?" I take a breath to answer, mucus swirling in my throat, but he cuts me off, says, "oh." Cold stethescope under layers of worn in wool and i smirk a little
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