Until the beginning of World Music
Listening to country and fuck. I'm here to think on the bed. On my bed in the room with no door. Today there was an agent I fucking screamed "Son of a bitch, son of a bitch." With his uniform of black cock and fucking his hat a hundred years old. I approached him and I smashed her face with her fist. It is not even able to pull water out of the inhibitor. The asshole. "Who is the son of a bitch now, who is?". And his face was as red as the beginning of his stupid life. No longer has a nose. Small and upwards as his mother who gave birth to so disgustingly effeminate. I do not. Nor effeminate, nor so high. That is, I have broad shoulders and short hair. Skin a bit 'but not so dark as to seem them. I liked the sound of his teeth on the pavement. Today, Hiroshima, the capital of Sector East, pulled two more bombs here. I have not heard noises. For ten years, those fucking shit East have won. With their uniforms nude and semi long hair always combed. As their posters with drawings on it. With big eyes that seem to either. I do not even seem miserable they are. Only deserve to wallow in their misery rich and colorful. I took two of those blue pills to forget. Perhaps they were green. I am the kind of person who can not distinguish blue from green. So be it. I look out and see the rubble and some bitch to walk under. Servizietti to make a few liters of fuel. Old mostly. One of the old ones every now and then I do on the hood of any car that does not produce more and I always leave dusty. I am of those who always smile no teeth. Every time I take a few punches to see how it goes. Maybe they like. Sure I do. I like to follow the girls with pink hair natural. Take them by the hair and beat against the wall in one of the many dark and deserted streets. The rape is a bit 'and then I get tired. I love when I spit on their saliva strange color indefinitely. From what I remember is always dark. Not really dark like night, but like no sun. The sky is covered by a thick layer of dust. Since I broke all the bombs together and have done half dry Sector West, there is a cloud of dust that obscures everything. When I was little they said would happen, this Before you jump all communications. That is saying a lot of crap about a man who told the future of something like a war. Well he did not understand a shit. It was about half that with the screens and the wires which name escapes me now. But it was so long ago. And he did not exist as no one knows I exist. What is certain is that they are a moving target. No one cares who the fuck are just that strike me with the cold sensors. Well I'm a target, one among many. Exterminate many counts at the end and then one by one. With those white balls and a little 'black roll and then explode. And if you're lucky you run out of legs to bleed a little 'there. When I see someone I approach and see if you have something that interests me in the pockets of dirty pants. Mica such as those in the western sector, the part that I have not seen, those with a lot of money. Those who were part of what was once called Ameriq or something. Just broke out the mess the rich and the whores blondes with big tits have gone on an 'island. Years ago, anyway. It is said to spend their time counting money, which by the way you do not use more than one piece, dress well and kill each other every now and then. With those rudimentary weapons of the last century where a lever press and part of a small bomb that explodes into round. There are even different types. Some others are not long. However, I spend my time going around here and there, and I always dirty boots blacks with dust. I never clean but get dirty forever. With all this dust that gets into your brain and ears and every corner I nearly get sick. I almost took the ADDS once. The acquired deficiency syndrome, from the dust then. Even if eventually found another of the eastern sector to exterminate us all. That is, one by one. They are white spots on him. Then perhaps vomiting and coughing a bit '. There are many. Even the street that gasp. Ask for the grace to something they have done and for someone who did not deserve. Poor bastards. Yes, yes, because the important thing is not to be soft cakes. That is, they believe this and there's a lot of problems. Perhaps lie. So it takes so little. To me it is only interested in the pills are blue or green or otherwise. I am one of those who can not distinguish from orange to pink. These pills are great because you only remember what you want. The rest forget it all. I mean I remember a little 'things about how it started tuto why do I need to survive. At the end if there's a rubble I know, because if I stumble then maybe hit me too. Then I can not take pills. If I do not pick any agent feeds me with a dog. Those with four legs, those with three are too thin and they always go out of the darkness like a blind man. And I do not like. If that happens then I'm lucky I even set it a fire and I can eat something that becomes a bit 'black and bubbling on the surface. Otherwise does the same raw, do not worry.
It 's a bit I look at an old house on a deserted road. Some time ago there was someone who went there. The house is part of the facade collapsed and I can see inside. There's someone I'm interested. Maybe has something for me, pills or whatever. Maybe something that glitters. The house is still a bit 'yellow, but soon. I watch him for days. It 's a young guy, skinny, too skinny. Her hair is a bit 'long with a fringe that covers a bit'. Blacks. And 'one of those fags. I'm sure. One of those is someone and not others. She cries for about two days for a sanguemisto that he has not seen any more. It 'a dickhead and a fag shit. Cries cries until it can. Sometimes it takes a belly like if it were to give birth. Giving birth is the fennel. I hate those regular features. And 'there that is desperate for someone who never cared a fuck about him. So I see it. I care about him, should not despair.
I climb the stairs. I find him sitting there, in the usual chair, his back. Can you hear me, says, "Who are you?". "But I am," I say "I am." "You're back?" does not turn, do you think someone inappropriate. "Do not bring myself to start all over again." And that's where I grab him by the throat, and there is nothing in the house. So I can also distract a bit '. Then, he bound tightly to the chair. I put a nice piece of my shirt that I ripped into his mouth. I ask him "Are you a fag?". He says something but I do not know. "You're a fag?". It 's always there with that nagging thing in your mouth and do not understand. "Answer, you're a fag?". Well if you do not want to answer his own business. At this point I give him a punch in the face and he fell to the ground with all the chair. I rise and give him a kiss on the forehead. Now I give him another blow, slower because I do not want to drop it again. I think I could untie. But before I take a large piece of wood and hit it a bit 'on the arms and legs, he cries a bit' but I do not feel so good. When I finished he untied him and lie down on the ground. "So fuck you fag?" I ask him kindly. Does not respond, not responding and has the look a bit 'so. Well I think that should and decide for him. Pull out the long, pointed piece of glass I have in my pocket. I lift the shirt from the floor just above the navel. He cries and cries and I bear it less and less. At this point I put the piece of glass just below the navel where it is soft. There's a little 'blood here and there but it does the same. I careful to make a precise hole. He passes out a little 'and some' no. Now he fainted. I drop his pants and are just above. I feel the smell of her sadness, and this excites me more. Guess I'll take one of those things small and red. No, now it is better not to. The are over and I put all my shit, which is not very big, the hole that I practiced before generously. And with so much care. Now, the purpose and distinctly feel the sensation of hot and wet that the blood gives me. And I wet my pants. And I feel rub, rub the edges of torn flesh against me. It 's the best feeling in the world, I mean really. When I finished I rearrange them and look down from the collapsed building. Nothing. I do not know how, but the boy recovers and bounces back, while still lying on the floor because he can not move. Who knows why. So, before bleeding as I would like him back over. "Did you like fennel?". It does not say no, say yes. "... Like fennel?". Well I put three fingers in the hole first, that usually, oe shot up as if I had to rip something. Shooting shooting but I do not enjoy much. That is, I tired quickly. Then bothers me the blood on your hands. Take the piece of glass that I had before in his pocket and which is now on the ground. That is, I must have fallen in the heat before. At this point I start to cut from the right shoulder. I want to see if he's cute without an arm. At the first thrust vigorously squirts a jet of blood on me and a little 'there. Wow the pain so well. Then I keep going back and forth with the piece of glass up and down a bit 'here and a bit' over there. And now the piece of glass is a piece of red glass. He cries and cries I finally feel the flesh torn and I feel more and more scraping against the bone and
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