Tongue was long, as time witch was passing by so slowly... on the other hand it was a perfect match - shitty attitude, low-fat, rich in fiber, carbonated with high protein level.
You see, people are right, nothing happens with out a reason. It seems IT was my reason, for fuck sake, so funny! The tight feeling, witch I usual like, but here... It's like a year long flue, doesn't mater how many pills, snuffs, shots you get, it sticks with you.

And yes, the target was not moving, how can you hunt it, if the one is stiff as an anorexic girl in high heels.

The coffee is on the wooden table, seamy stainless-steel spoon is over licked and poses on the cheep china plate. White sugar. Not brown, white. Nothing racist, they serve only one type, white.
Through the mist of white sugar I feel he is staring at me, I will not play that game. Not my armor type.

"The hunter must hunt, for as soon as he stops, he becomes a hunted"
(B.R. and Friends)

So did somebody swiped cards, places exchanged? The seamy drunk knight in shining armor needs a stick in his ass. So that this "Best top-class pub" would not look so disappointing for the master. As he failed to get under the skirt of the waitress.

And this is the part, where I should talk about the differences:
Some hunt for pleasure, some for the nice smelling,tender pages with intellectual impact, and some for trashy and cheep, used up meat.

And this is how the story end kids. So what did you learned today?

"Never wear red lipstick to a "Best top-class Pub""

She left a small tip, and moved to another page.
Good night,


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