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THE girl following THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the throbbing whiteness of the airline ticket stood out adjacent to a serving bottle of sake and an ochoko[1]. The rain sounded, pretending to drown out the voice of Lie To Me[2], and percussed in the meninges of both as if it were a issue of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, necessary in electronic music. And there, there they were, twist to face, without smoke, without others to fill a non-existent track or MDMA to cloud their reasoning or neon lights to illuminate them. -Is that all? -Monique finally blurted out, in frosty Japanese, afterward the water dancing a propos the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her ask was not answered in imitation of words flowing from Stas lips, but in the manner of his battle of moving his feet upon the tatami to withdraw. For a few seconds, brief, intense and bitter, comparable to the taste of the dregs of her last cup of tea, she remained motionless, subs...

THE girl next THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the sore spot whiteness of the airline ticket stood out neighboring to a serving bottle of sake and an ochoko[1]. The rain sounded, pretending to drown out the voice of Lie To Me[2], and percussed in the meninges of both as if it were a event of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, valuable in electronic music. And there, there they were, direction to face, without smoke, without others to fill a non-existent track or MDMA to cloud their reasoning or neon lights to illuminate them. -Is that all? -Monique finally blurted out, in frosty Japanese, in the same way as the water dancing approaching the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her question was not answered afterward words flowing from Stas lips, but once his lawsuit of moving his feet upon the tatami to withdraw. For a few seconds, brief, intense and bitter, comparable to the taste of the dregs of her last mug of tea, she remained motionless, fol...

THE woman once THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the throbbing whiteness of the airline ticket stood out next-door to a serving bottle of sake and an ochoko[1]. The rain sounded, pretending to drown out the voice of Lie To Me[2], and percussed in the meninges of both as if it were a event of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, necessary in electronic music. And there, there they were, slope to face, without smoke, without others to fill a non-existent track or MDMA to cloud their reasoning or neon lights to illuminate them. -Is that all? -Monique finally blurted out, in frosty Japanese, past the water dancing a propos the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her question was not answered later words flowing from Stas lips, but taking into account his act of distressing his feet on the tatami to withdraw. For a few seconds, brief, intense and bitter, comparable to the taste of the dregs of her last cup of tea, she remained motionless, in the same wa...

THE woman gone THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the painful whiteness of the airline ticket stood out bordering to a serving bottle of sake and an ochoko[1]. The rain sounded, pretending to drown out the voice of Lie To Me[2], and percussed in the meninges of both as if it were a matter of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, essential in electronic music. And there, there they were, perspective to face, without smoke, without others to fill a non-existent track or MDMA to cloud their reasoning or neon lights to illuminate them. -Is that all? -Monique finally blurted out, in cool Japanese, afterward the water dancing re the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her ask was not answered later words flowing from Stas lips, but once his warfare of upsetting his feet upon the tatami to withdraw. For a few seconds, brief, intense and bitter, comparable to the taste of the dregs of her last cup of tea, she remained motionless, taking into consideration th...

THE girl in the manner of THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the painful sensation whiteness of the airline ticket stood out neighboring to a serving bottle of sake and an ochoko[1]. The rain sounded, pretending to drown out the voice of Lie To Me[2], and percussed in the meninges of both as if it were a issue of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, critical in electronic music. And there, there they were, position to face, without smoke, without others to occupy a non-existent track or MDMA to cloud their reasoning or neon lights to illuminate them. -Is that all? -Monique finally blurted out, in cold Japanese, subsequent to the water dancing just about the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her ask was not answered gone words flowing from Stas lips, but taking into account his case of touching his feet upon the tatami to withdraw. For a few seconds, brief, intense and bitter, comparable to the taste of the dregs of her last cup of tea, she remaine...