NARRATION nf 1. Story of an event, a series of facts 2. Academic exercise editorial
He wore a plaid cardigan, skinny jeans and Crude Repetto white, he was a singer of a group Shabby rock, he found me suspicious.
I thought interesting, with verve pedantic, his young voice husky poet cardboard, I was probably too abused vodka.
I had found in an apartment fundamentally rotten, decrepit, the kind that I found cool in 15 years, vinyls embedded everywhere, where there is room, a mattress on the floor worn sheets questionable, a kitchen with tons of disgusting stuff stacked.
It certainly reminded me when I lived in the 15th when I kissed with Jean-Emmanuel, except that the neighborhood was more expensive than books graphic-arty-arty-arty-tortured-and MYASS stuffed animals replaced furniture 45.
I wore my black boots, day lambda black leggings, a black tunic dress-way asymmetric year 80 (which you find in trendy shops twenty years later), a black cardigan cut to the brother, my hair fell on my wise shoulders, I was clearly disguised as a hooker with lip blood, eyes, smoky, opalescent complexion, a luxury bag black leather studded, anything that could get close to this wave-Paris-bobo rock my cursed addition gotho-fashion attire was undoubtedly my incurable neurasthenic condition that I inherited at the end of college. I asked
pass the Doors, I smoked cigarette after cigarette, trying to display a false note for debonair look cool, friendly and completely delighted to end my evening in a slum in the 11th arrondissement.
You did not exist, I was in the land of vodka and tonic and New Order, I spoke English alcoholic, I kissed my emotional void with passion, everything was dirty, everything was predictable, but all was forgotten.
It was everything I hate, self-confident, conceited, worked in an art gallery, stung other fags, hid her eyes in her hair sauerkraut, ersatz aesthetic who strutted to use obsolete words and silly, who spent most of his time to intellectualize everything.
I annoyed to see that the natural attrition was a virtue, that seem to be outweighed this and still 4:01 in the morning.
In my case, I feel like a primitive exchange of bodily fluids.
More minutes passed on, my mood was more physical. More
j'ingurgitais alcohol, my love became more lucid.
I love with a ghost, a ghost, a shadow of a current of air.
I had the illusion of love, but I was just a piece of meat cold and bitter Unable
transport in love.
He told me he read Bernanos, I had absolutely nothing to fuck.
I wanted to run away, running at full speed, far, far, the Forest Gump, abandoning my insensitivity, my lack, my worries and my troubles in this 35 m2 which reeked of deception.
"Without you I'm happy "
[ little girl's voice capricious
is wrong, without you, I'm at an impasse in my life. What a sham
this evening.
I'd like to love you but I can not.
I already hate you, and it's sad that happened after all the orgasms
that you gave me.
What a mess.]
He offered me a coffee to go, and everybody knows I can not stand it.
late night, early morning, I did not know.
I looked a little.
Him more poetic, myself and more trivial, we were two lonely souls. He surely wanted
kiss.
I returned as I was coming,
Only.
free in my actions, I was no prisoner.
I flirted with Jonathan, I failed to Raphael, who was certainly in love with me, I had not turned the page with Adrian, I sucked in Lucas Hall bath for my birthday, Camille wanted to see me & Fuck deeply Guillaume.
autosexuality I will practice and not depend on any cock.
Such were my thoughts when the orgasm came, my arm numb, I fell asleep immediately.
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