There are days when you would not want to pretend even a hairdo, and instead of individual quell'abbozzo maltonso to avoid any bypassing of the sidewalk comes at you with his right hand outstretched, clammy . He traits in the face routine dell'accattone, eyebrows lying on the excavation of fiction, her lips stretched into a smile drooping. It seems just out of sixth pit of Dante's Inferno, one of the hypocrites: tucked under a hood of leaded gold.
You do not escape: a car with a wheel on the pavement you prevent the escape, a mother crouched on a child in tears, cuts you retreat.
You must respond to that greeting.
In one click, the invention.
"These days, no effusions. You know, the influence A!.
Here, something is served, the damn virus.
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