Tuesday, December 21, 2010

New Job And Vicodin Testing

Gang Bangs of New York - Part Two


You should know that Broadway is a rather long way . About 20 km from one end of Manhattan. So, better to know exactly where to go. Exactly. Having carefully examined the map, lift his head and with a flourish, pointing forward, I point to my two guests in the right direction and call you to follow. The whipping wind became more violent but I tetragon the blows of chance, I will not be intimidated.

"Is it far?" I ask politely.

"No, will be a maximum of ten minutes on foot." Fifteen, count against the breeze. When minutes, however, have passed wind, on the face of the two Israeli appears an expression of disappointment. I look around, check the map again and I urge fellow travelers to continue:

"We're almost there!"

Ten more minutes. I begin to notice some discrepancies between what was encoded on paper and my faculties of interpretation. In fact, checking the street numbers, I realize that we have gone far beyond the designated destination. One hundred and fifty numbers. However, in my defense, I can say that if the Niña, the Pinta and the Santa Maria had been equipped with GPS devices, we could not sink its jaws into a double cheesburger covered with layers of onion. Go back to not talk about it either. We go into a store and ask for advice area of \u200b\u200bthe premises to a contract that will have no more than sixteen years. She, unleashing an infectious smile that puts on display its technological braces, there suggests a just around the corner. So, here we are on the ground floor of this building, in front of a desert bar. It closed. The elevator is a plate with some names.

"Oh, look: I think we go up to the fifth floor. " For alcohol I become a truffle hound . The two blindly follow their prophet metropolitan , even if they start to show a little impatient. When the elevator door opens before us is an infinite expanse of dresses hanging neatly on the hangers that fill the entire space of the loft. Who knows where the bottles of rum?

"Can we help you?"

How do turtles stretch their necks out of their shell to burn a little 'grass, we leaned out of the elevator and see to our left, hidden by a wooden bar that runs around them, are sitting in front a computer, two girls and a boy looking at us quizzically. We explain why we are there. smile and tell us that the bar is at ground level and that this is a studio . American, Etel.

So no rum?

between a sentence and another, known that the boy suffers from a tic in his left eye . One of the two Israeli approaches and whispers in my ear: "I think he likes . So, I'm not in a bar and the boy did not suffer any tics. Nothing is what it seems, except the fact that I, at that time, I look like an idiot, even if it was all just a dream. The dream of an idiot.

I try to take it to my advantage. Deployed the army of incisors, canines, molars and pre molars, and with oratory that even Shakespeare's Mark Antony with his "Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears", I urge you to show off the smile unbeatable . I ask the guy if he knows a nice place to have a drink and maybe a bite to eat well. He was hit by unmentionable sexual drives, falters, then regained control, fiddles with the computer and seconds later gives me not only a printed page with the name and address of the premises - and the small, bottom right, should instead be his phone number -, but also the model of the restaurant with a lot of Bruno Vespa attachment and a set of glazed pots that I bring home only $ 49 plus shipping. We thank and salute us on our way again. Ten more minutes of running. The post, which is hidden behind an anonymous door, it's really cute. Sensitive: a bar, five tables and a toilet. With our luck, one of the tables is free and does not care if the seats are only two and I have to stay off the bench with half ass and knees wedged under the table. We order. Or rather, I order. Mussels marinara, a taste of this, a taste of that and a bottle of fine and expensive Italian red wine . The Israeli seek to prevent such a waste of pecuniary, fearful of having to pay much more than turn the mortgage at the end of dinner, but I, full of spirit tafazziano, utter a phrase that some critics have called "an epigram which is the vividness with emptiness existence of its author "

" You are my guests. "

The crowd paid tribute to me with a standing ovation and the greek chorus instantly reaches catharsis. I just have to say goodbye inviting you to reflect on a thought so deep and deferred until the next episode, where you can read about diabolical possession and betrayal platonic. Good week to all!


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