"We walked cheerfully but still the tight legs. Scruting, envious, wandering canids relieved on city lighting. When suddenly, pointed by God, appeared his Creation. A pleasant terrace, slipped beyond our eyelids, in our peripheral vision, a terrasa, my faith well humble in appearance but very motivating for our poor echelons.. Our muscular thighs banded (like the pmu race horses) to engage in the pin turn to our right. This terasse sucked the presence of a bobo loft lighted with neon. We rub shoulders when we saw the surrounding. What was not our surprise, coupled with a chagrining despair when we lived standing in front of us, comparable to a powerful erection rod, a wall, similar to that of Berlin before 89 small historical staline 4 ever. Then, our necks in a waltzing and dizzying dildo to our communist left. We felt it in our hearts, such as the apparition of the Blessed Virgin Mary, affuched with a halo of divine light: The Bockale. Drained against us. We understood that it was The Place. So we broke up like the Eels of GENERATION PÊCHE, in the midst of an attempt to accede to the Holy Place, nothing could stop us. Once the door is carefully closed behind us, we felt in perfect symbiosis with time and the place, the more question of dragging! The throne was waiting for us in its complexly complete fatality. God disposed of the Blessed Parchment, from which we seized ourselves after the imanquable filth, how satisfying! In turn we cut the place with fervour and passion. Following this, we smear our manual tools and then split into English. Without a regret, however, all times, the heart filled with melancholy... Special mention to the panel 'Drunck people crossing' was, I quote: funny tarpiiiiing! As we say in our home. Cordially, two potential future clients. <3"
