Turniej Pokemon

john3859

e of my boy brings her cotton closer
burrows vents for her fruit-air to escape and waste me. Mexican fruit-airboyif I have my way. As
I abandon myself to the dreammuffled wisps of the TV-news fanfare travel the corridor like an
infection. Then a prisoner snorts with laughter.
Six
'You touch bag? Make fingerprince?' This is what Mr Abdini asks me. Don't even ask me the
rest of his name.
'Fingerprints? Uh–I guess so.' I'm uneasy enough todaywithout having to meet folk like this.
Abdini is fat the way an anvil is fatbut his face is probably swept back by the velocity of his
talking. He's my attorney. The judge appointed him. I guess nobody else works Sundays around
here. I know you're not allowed to say it anymoreabout other places being different and allbut
between you and meyou can tell Abdini is the product of centuries of fast-talking and
double-dealing. Ricochet Abdini'Bingping
ping [link widoczny dla zalogowanych]!' He's dressed in whitelike the Cuban
Ambassador or something. A jury would convict on his fucken shoes alonenot that his shoes are
my biggest problem. They're the least of my fucken problemsknow why? Because if you take a
bunch of flabby white folkof the kind that organize bake-sales and suchand put them iyilai:
[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]

[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]