Get this. September ninth, I park my truck across the street infront of the blue house (K says it's teal, but I'm frigged in the cones). 'Hoits, on September eleventh I found a parking ticket made of rubber paper on my windshield (it rains) stating that I was in violation of parking restrictions. Only people living on the sixteen-hundred block
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guys that they should pick on someone their
own size. sheesh!
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All in all it's just another knick in the balls, you know?
love mlle.
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