I felt like shit. holding the chain of life bearing whatever i could to understand justice. A cracking and splitting noise came from the living room kitchen area. I ran there to find my optical doing the dance of life. Feeling spent I sat down for a glass of numbers. But only these numbers could be brought down the story of love. Why? Why? I asked
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Fucking weirdo.
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But at least your journal is mad fun to read. Attempt to be good, OK?
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