Saturday, January 3, 2009

Storage Auctions Near Pittsburgh





not ever take them, the cloves. But to come to you, at least ten minutes to pick and choose a couple of coins of one, a pair of two, and so on. A pile of iron that did slip through his fingers in his pocket during the row. Ah yes. The row. Why do you come to the line, Margaret.
I could not wait to have a bill to be paid, or money to be taken, to put in an orderly queue and chat time with the woman who complained of pain, or talk with the government that other ladies. I did not care to wait. The first heart sank when I left the corner and saw the clerk at the desk.
blond hair, a headband. The lightweight glasses with pink frames. In my opinion, already suspected something, if in the time that the line is shortened between me and you, you found time to be polite and smiling with each client and I glanced in response to mine.
How many times have I repeated this play? I do not know. Each time our conversation was exhausted in a few words.
- Has a dime?
- Now I see. Here you go.
- Thank you. Very nice.
- Not at all.
- Good morning.
- Goodbye.
Every time I left the post office I felt your eyes on the back of my head, asking me why I did not understand you if your feeling was true or not.
But I had to dissolve a doubt, before making any move.
And one day, as I watched entranced and taken care of your hands covered with rings inconspicuous fly on keyboard, you have chamito director.
- Excuse me a moment - you told me, smiling.
- No problem - I answered.
Here. Now. A move
athletics and six fell off the chair. Turn around. Turn around, please.
And I saw your puppy, while his hand gently on his jeans were skipping, going to cover the elastic thong.
I did not breathe until you return after a few minutes.
- Here I am. One hundred twenty-and thirty-six. He thirty-six cents?
- Now I see. Here you go.
I pulled out of the thirty-six cents left pocket and the right to note that I kept ready for months. I've spent the small change and then after a few seconds, the paper folded into squares.
You took the pieces and you looked at the ticket. Did you open quickly and you've closed in the palm of your hand.
- Thank you. Very nice.
- Not at all.
- Good morning.
- Goodbye.
business as usual. I'll be wrong, I thought. But want a woman like that, that world needs to be towed behind the counter?
Instead, after a few days from an unknown number, I got a message that went like this:
- Hello. Margaret and I are married. You better leave me alone. So I put

the flight the first thing that crossed my mind.

- Hello. Guido and I are married, too. I also think it is better that you leave this alone.

And so we started to exchange messages, for weeks. Each message more or less always spoke of the fact that we had done with it. I will always answered right away, you put us up to a week. And I waited. Thrill, but I've never sent a message before your answer. Then one day I wrote:

- But a free afternoon to see us, did you?

Ten minutes.

- Friday afternoon, after three.

You told me you had a red car, which gave too much attention. So you borrowed the car from your husband, a big gray car.
I waited for half an hour. The time limit. I've already had that other women give me the hole, many times. I had to give a time limit. And thirty minutes late may be granted. Although in the end was expecting at least three quarters of an hour, up to now over, I never expected.
I had a little 'sleep and I dozed off, listening to Miles Davis.
Then I saw you knock and I opened the glass.

- Hello Margaret.
- Hello.

We shook hands and we gave a kiss on the cheek, as do their relatives. I have put in motion and I'm headed somewhere, I do not remember where. We begin to talk about this and that, of our families, work. After nearly an hour I stopped the car in a yard.

- Why did you stop? - You asked me with a threatening tone.
- I bet you any idea about it you've got it - I placed.
- What you put into your head? Take me back to the car!
- Look, if you arrived at this point, I think you owe me at least a kiss.

You looked at me in silence, the silence that smacks of surrender. You have only a sketchy attempt at resistance minimum, just to keep up appearances, as taught by the mothers.

- Okay. Just a kiss, though.

and how to teach the mothers, not to straw by the fire, if you do not want a fire broke out. The kiss was quickly turned into an unbuttoning of shirts and jeans, to lie down in a seat. I hardly detached from your mouth to begin exploring your breasts and your hips
.

- Turn around. Please.

And thou hast turned away, meekly. And so I saw it.
Your puppy bound with a black lace panties. I picked up between thumb and index your hips and I have brought to its knees. Then I removed the mask to the puppy. The
I measured for a few seconds with your hands. A beautiful forty-four, not abundant. The smooth skin. I gave you a pinch, to test the muscle tone.

- Ouch! You're hurting me!

Good. The money for the gym are well spent, I thought.
Without further ado, I buried my face in that wonder, and you sighed with pleasure. My tongue has long lingered between the two gates of paradise.

Each lunge, a stifled sigh. I would have continued for a lifetime to savor the juice of the wild grape. But you put me on track.

- Basta. Basta. Take me. So, from behind.

Patience. I took off what little remained, and I knelt behind the puppy. I took your necklace colored from behind and I pulled over to me. And your tears were mixed with my screams, while I rode sleeping bridle in hand.
the end I stayed with her hands and mouth on your puppy, biting, kissing, slapping him.
While we were returning, you cried. In silence, trying not to let me know what you felt guilty for what he had done.
I have not seen more, the post office. Respond to messages even more.
Who knows what will you do now. Perhaps you're chatting with your husband, maybe you're cooking. I wonder where you put your puppy on a pillow which is soft swinging your buttery figure.

Thursday, January 1, 2009

Whats Happens If I Donr Take My Herpes Medication

Thanks again Marco

Before making a trip to see if anyone has done or will do a review on "machine head", I leave a few lines here, to talk about the show that aired this evening on LA7.
Once again I was struck by that ability to tell stories that belong to us, which date back from the back of our minds certain images, smells, sounds, we thought we had lost forever.
I laughed and I cried. An exciting show, as always.
Thanks Mark. And thanks to
LA7 (not the RAI, as he sang a few). Hello

Piero