The cigarette has expressed it in chocolate pudding. Pounding beats. The apartment Schummert in red light, we have the Puffbeleuchtung to, the hostess calls euphoric way bi. It's Party Time, dudes.
I talk, we eat Sausages with mustard (Haha, sausages, how awesome Dick, go, let time take photo - No, please do not, okay, thanks, I Fädler me out of the ambiguity). Sipping the mixture, cheaper booze, but accustomed to the throat can not defend itself, the broth Sifft down the neck. Just a hint, but not too much, merci. In conversation with the girl of my best friend turns up, the hostess, drunk, she's bi, I mentioned it already. She turns up snogs the girl's best friend. Frightened looks, there are people who will not know that yet. Interested I muster my best friend, he gives at the hotel bar for a drink one untouched. Everything seen, experienced smile, as his eyes meet his kissing girls. I heard she is to write good lyrics.
I'm correct, full of grace, I am in favor of disengagement, but please! A bit more eccentric, yes, like work, but with taste, the hostess gigs around the next kiss voluntary. This little red cherry, called the style or class, to which I attach great importance, which is my anchor in the tiny Ekelozean, which is my crown on the hood of the coolness cream ice cream, which can be a problem. By convention, we've done that, it will be even for the case moldy fruit, wants to try any. The people from the Erzgebirge would say: Do gieht ned mol dor Fuchs naah.
A piece of dark chocolate cake crumbles is indeed something in between meals, are rinsed with rancid eggnog, a few colored sprinkles every second guest stay stuck between the teeth. A breathing mixture of Vodka Cola and chips - Chio, the Real! - Draws a pulsating through the rooms, it brings even the most sober man to choke. My foot got lost in a reddish soup on the floor. Red wine. Cup side of the puddle and painted pieces. Classic style of life of all Feierlicheiten. I do not know if my tights more substance or more Siff with. It's all right. Urinates outside a stylishly loose early twenties, his Pissstrahl shines in the lantern light. The best friend comes over, speaks English with a girl unknown to me, probably bi, as the hostess. The whole world is bi. The best friend is sick easily, but the best friend is a big rock in the surf, not to throw it. "Come, let me also sometimes fun." She smiles, "I must introduce themselves suppository rectally. She smiles, playful, sometimes she is my protector (the mom, she rocks me in her arms) and sometimes I am. Has a best friend Irish humor like a hardened drinker, this dry objectivity, alas, she is a fabulous girl. This little red cherry, this style, it has preserved and retain so few small red fruits that are just a tiny detail in the large sundae of life. But most of all, quite above all bear only a few celebrations that are complaining parties, small red fruit style.
But who has not already been dug with a stick in the putrid fruit.
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