finite. again.
in fire death boy.
in fire death boy.
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Thursday, September 28, 2006
What Is A Good Stroke Volume
life in rain
and now is raining now so it. in here. with me. It is pouring rain. It pours and pours. like a fountain that shoots water down and collects in huge streams. the cabinet walls bend under the weight of the falling masses as strohhalme.es is an intolerable polarized and roar. the ground shakes the boards and crash into each other. thick raindrops tommeln wild rhythms and elusive for me to bed, television and printer paper. outside - beyond the four walls - everything rests in the soft light of the setting evening sun. the leaves swaying in the wind and dried up blades of grass in the direction of squint exhausted room window.
once we have tried to grab him. the rain. but he was faster. I have not used the moment. I was sure he would return. We have been waiting for. and maintained. but he did not return. all we still remained were magnificent wet feet, warm hands and this familiar taste on the lips. and the incredible feeling of eternity tiny. I have not used the moment. as so often. how many moments passed before me, I have not used. moments that we might have saved much more. or have contributed to the rescue. maybe. sure. I do not know. the taste of your lips. I've forgotten it. It's too long ago. how many times I remember in the last hours and days about how we sat on that bank of that evening. so close to each other. and yet still miles away from each other. how many times I have to smile when I think of what use was the evening. and how much it hurts when I understand that we are in a dead end.
fall around me, one of the walls. can not make it out of here on my own . the pressure of the water is huge. I am alone. this ocean will drag you down . the rain beats hard on. drums lost in the space. every drop "loses himself in his echo. dont let him go . they seem lost. dont let him go . have we lost? Great waves come crashing down .
should it have been? within a few hours you become so foreign to me. your words burn into my eyes. you are so far out of reach. seen not only in space. something in me has jumped. just like rain hits the ground . like a mirror on cold tiles. glass splinter jump in all directions. and only if it is fast enough to catch even the larger part. so many thorns, sleepless nights . baby, help me. so many thorns. hell yes, take me to the hand and lead me back. to where we were. out of the impasse. with their backs to the wall. from the front comes the flood. great waves come crashing down.
remember? then? it was missing was the rain ... now missing so much more. baby do not go. what to tell him when he comes and you're not there? He is waiting for us. He awaits the kiss. just like me. always yet.
remember? then? it was missing was the rain ...
and now is raining now so it. in here. with me. It is pouring rain. It pours and pours. like a fountain that shoots water down and collects in huge streams. the cabinet walls bend under the weight of the falling masses as strohhalme.es is an intolerable polarized and roar. the ground shakes the boards and crash into each other. thick raindrops tommeln wild rhythms and elusive for me to bed, television and printer paper. outside - beyond the four walls - everything rests in the soft light of the setting evening sun. the leaves swaying in the wind and dried up blades of grass in the direction of squint exhausted room window.
once we have tried to grab him. the rain. but he was faster. I have not used the moment. I was sure he would return. We have been waiting for. and maintained. but he did not return. all we still remained were magnificent wet feet, warm hands and this familiar taste on the lips. and the incredible feeling of eternity tiny. I have not used the moment. as so often. how many moments passed before me, I have not used. moments that we might have saved much more. or have contributed to the rescue. maybe. sure. I do not know. the taste of your lips. I've forgotten it. It's too long ago. how many times I remember in the last hours and days about how we sat on that bank of that evening. so close to each other. and yet still miles away from each other. how many times I have to smile when I think of what use was the evening. and how much it hurts when I understand that we are in a dead end.
fall around me, one of the walls. can not make it out of here on my own . the pressure of the water is huge. I am alone. this ocean will drag you down . the rain beats hard on. drums lost in the space. every drop "loses himself in his echo. dont let him go . they seem lost. dont let him go . have we lost? Great waves come crashing down .
should it have been? within a few hours you become so foreign to me. your words burn into my eyes. you are so far out of reach. seen not only in space. something in me has jumped. just like rain hits the ground . like a mirror on cold tiles. glass splinter jump in all directions. and only if it is fast enough to catch even the larger part. so many thorns, sleepless nights . baby, help me. so many thorns. hell yes, take me to the hand and lead me back. to where we were. out of the impasse. with their backs to the wall. from the front comes the flood. great waves come crashing down.
remember? then? it was missing was the rain ... now missing so much more. baby do not go. what to tell him when he comes and you're not there? He is waiting for us. He awaits the kiss. just like me. always yet.
What Is A Good Stroke Volume
life in rain
and now is raining now so it. in here. with me. It is pouring rain. It pours and pours. like a fountain that shoots water down and collects in huge streams. the cabinet walls bend under the weight of the falling masses as strohhalme.es is an intolerable polarized and roar. the ground shakes the boards and crash into each other. thick raindrops tommeln wild rhythms and elusive for me to bed, television and printer paper. outside - beyond the four walls - everything rests in the soft light of the setting evening sun. the leaves swaying in the wind and dried up blades of grass in the direction of squint exhausted room window.
once we have tried to grab him. the rain. but he was faster. I have not used the moment. I was sure he would return. We have been waiting for. and maintained. but he did not return. all we still remained were magnificent wet feet, warm hands and this familiar taste on the lips. and the incredible feeling of eternity tiny. I have not used the moment. as so often. how many moments passed before me, I have not used. moments that we might have saved much more. or have contributed to the rescue. maybe. sure. I do not know. the taste of your lips. I've forgotten it. It's too long ago. how many times I remember in the last hours and days about how we sat on that bank of that evening. so close to each other. and yet still miles away from each other. how many times I have to smile when I think of what use was the evening. and how much it hurts when I understand that we are in a dead end.
fall around me, one of the walls. can not make it out of here on my own . the pressure of the water is huge. I am alone. this ocean will drag you down . the rain beats hard on. drums lost in the space. every drop "loses himself in his echo. dont let him go . they seem lost. dont let him go . have we lost? Great waves come crashing down .
should it have been? within a few hours you become so foreign to me. your words burn into my eyes. you are so far out of reach. seen not only in space. something in me has jumped. just like rain hits the ground . like a mirror on cold tiles. glass splinter jump in all directions. and only if it is fast enough to catch even the larger part. so many thorns, sleepless nights . baby, help me. so many thorns. hell yes, take me to the hand and lead me back. to where we were. out of the impasse. with their backs to the wall. from the front comes the flood. great waves come crashing down.
remember? then? it was missing was the rain ... now missing so much more. baby do not go. what to tell him when he comes and you're not there? He is waiting for us. He awaits the kiss. just like me. always yet.
remember? then? it was missing was the rain ...
and now is raining now so it. in here. with me. It is pouring rain. It pours and pours. like a fountain that shoots water down and collects in huge streams. the cabinet walls bend under the weight of the falling masses as strohhalme.es is an intolerable polarized and roar. the ground shakes the boards and crash into each other. thick raindrops tommeln wild rhythms and elusive for me to bed, television and printer paper. outside - beyond the four walls - everything rests in the soft light of the setting evening sun. the leaves swaying in the wind and dried up blades of grass in the direction of squint exhausted room window.
once we have tried to grab him. the rain. but he was faster. I have not used the moment. I was sure he would return. We have been waiting for. and maintained. but he did not return. all we still remained were magnificent wet feet, warm hands and this familiar taste on the lips. and the incredible feeling of eternity tiny. I have not used the moment. as so often. how many moments passed before me, I have not used. moments that we might have saved much more. or have contributed to the rescue. maybe. sure. I do not know. the taste of your lips. I've forgotten it. It's too long ago. how many times I remember in the last hours and days about how we sat on that bank of that evening. so close to each other. and yet still miles away from each other. how many times I have to smile when I think of what use was the evening. and how much it hurts when I understand that we are in a dead end.
fall around me, one of the walls. can not make it out of here on my own . the pressure of the water is huge. I am alone. this ocean will drag you down . the rain beats hard on. drums lost in the space. every drop "loses himself in his echo. dont let him go . they seem lost. dont let him go . have we lost? Great waves come crashing down .
should it have been? within a few hours you become so foreign to me. your words burn into my eyes. you are so far out of reach. seen not only in space. something in me has jumped. just like rain hits the ground . like a mirror on cold tiles. glass splinter jump in all directions. and only if it is fast enough to catch even the larger part. so many thorns, sleepless nights . baby, help me. so many thorns. hell yes, take me to the hand and lead me back. to where we were. out of the impasse. with their backs to the wall. from the front comes the flood. great waves come crashing down.
remember? then? it was missing was the rain ... now missing so much more. baby do not go. what to tell him when he comes and you're not there? He is waiting for us. He awaits the kiss. just like me. always yet.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
28 Week Pregnant And Constipation
streets of london
this 16 year old adolescent schissr . so much action because of a simple cup of coffee. in the end was not even coffee. but only, so what really? correct. nothing. head shake, and go on.
28 Week Pregnant And Constipation
streets of london
this 16 year old adolescent schissr . so much action because of a simple cup of coffee. in the end was not even coffee. but only, so what really? correct. nothing. head shake, and go on.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Jogos Olineskateparkdatechdecklive
s-major key
yes, they flew. actually. three times round and high. So why not the coffee pot? why not until after pan-Eickel? conspire to ignite .
instances and vote. nervous twitch. tapped rhythms. totally unexpected: arias in s major. killed, and monasteries. vibrating timber. . Image neurosis spoil the pelt. cantus firmus, where are you gone? perfidious geschmunzel. no I do not think you do. and then he dances. hopes . the colorful dances gyro. expectations. and dances. black holes . And dance. hundred times groomed by acid rain. in the end it never makes up . the colored leaves. you're the last instance. a sad sight. you will never understand me . he is tired. rests in the gutter. no . only a matter of time until he throws up. report it adversely winter, autumn in the middle of summer . emotions, as usual. but different. concentrated. are in sleep, with children in hand luggage. can you manage it? you know there? not today. our hopes and expectations . the echo is dancing. black holes and revelations . ridiculous theories that sound exactly as they should. which are so wrong that the silence tingles. roller coaster of bubbles. familiar old names, old familiar faces. the fear that you mastered. the fear of losing. what one has. Embarrassed faces, entered words. compassionate look, feigned grace. grace? I do not need grace. people who move. and move. rock fragments falling into the water. One afternoon at three. for four. rock fragments falling into the water. draw circles. and fall. stones that passed through his hands. and wrote stories. I can write stories, too. He is the way my auch.nur not nearly as good as his. we write about ourselves and life over. over understanding. his stories bear witness to truth, knowledge, and chocolate cake. cocoa powder with nutella instead. my sensations from falsehood and objective. I'm 20th he, he was four. stock and chestnut, 2 meters. insurmountable. for him. not for me. this is completely ok. the view of the hungry. by world history. before he arrived at 10, he falls asleep. a nd the ship is taking me. me nothing, you nothing. far away. the epitome of the tent-breaking. seconds show how true it was. as it was true. edges on the Lens, blue cracks in consciousness. and then: the last leaf. and not a new role. milk alone for a long time makes no coffee. brown eyes does. almost. anyway. salto beating skater. and blue chairs. a beginning. and an end. little hands on a thick fur. an asset for the moment. 8 times as large. boundless great therapeutic effect. the pathetic attempt to embrace. a moving sight. his melancholy aura spills over. to have this incredible sense of accomplishment. be closer to. the problem of being fooled for an hour. far away from the memories . a penny for his thoughts. you may despair at the thought that in the long term will change. while this is not even their fault.
yes, they flew. actually. three times round and high. So why not the coffee pot? why not until after pan-Eickel? conspire to ignite .
instances and vote. nervous twitch. tapped rhythms. totally unexpected: arias in s major. killed, and monasteries. vibrating timber. . Image neurosis spoil the pelt. cantus firmus, where are you gone? perfidious geschmunzel. no I do not think you do. and then he dances. hopes . the colorful dances gyro. expectations. and dances. black holes . And dance. hundred times groomed by acid rain. in the end it never makes up . the colored leaves. you're the last instance. a sad sight. you will never understand me . he is tired. rests in the gutter. no . only a matter of time until he throws up. report it adversely winter, autumn in the middle of summer
Jogos Olineskateparkdatechdecklive
s-major key
yes, they flew. actually. three times round and high. So why not the coffee pot? why not until after pan-Eickel? conspire to ignite .
instances and vote. nervous twitch. tapped rhythms. totally unexpected: arias in s major. killed, and monasteries. vibrating timber. . Image neurosis spoil the pelt. cantus firmus, where are you gone? perfidious geschmunzel. no I do not think you do. and then he dances. hopes . the colorful dances gyro. expectations. and dances. black holes . And dance. hundred times groomed by acid rain. in the end it never makes up . the colored leaves. you're the last instance. a sad sight. you will never understand me . he is tired. rests in the gutter. no . only a matter of time until he throws up. report it adversely winter, autumn in the middle of summer . emotions, as usual. but different. concentrated. are in sleep, with children in hand luggage. can you manage it? you know there? not today. our hopes and expectations . the echo is dancing. black holes and revelations . ridiculous theories that sound exactly as they should. which are so wrong that the silence tingles. roller coaster of bubbles. familiar old names, old familiar faces. the fear that you mastered. the fear of losing. what one has. Embarrassed faces, entered words. compassionate look, feigned grace. grace? I do not need grace. people who move. and move. rock fragments falling into the water. One afternoon at three. for four. rock fragments falling into the water. draw circles. and fall. stones that passed through his hands. and wrote stories. I can write stories, too. He is the way my auch.nur not nearly as good as his. we write about ourselves and life over. over understanding. his stories bear witness to truth, knowledge, and chocolate cake. cocoa powder with nutella instead. my sensations from falsehood and objective. I'm 20th he, he was four. stock and chestnut, 2 meters. insurmountable. for him. not for me. this is completely ok. the view of the hungry. by world history. before he arrived at 10, he falls asleep. a nd the ship is taking me. me nothing, you nothing. far away. the epitome of the tent-breaking. seconds show how true it was. as it was true. edges on the Lens, blue cracks in consciousness. and then: the last leaf. and not a new role. milk alone for a long time makes no coffee. brown eyes does. almost. anyway. salto beating skater. and blue chairs. a beginning. and an end. little hands on a thick fur. an asset for the moment. 8 times as large. boundless great therapeutic effect. the pathetic attempt to embrace. a moving sight. his melancholy aura spills over. to have this incredible sense of accomplishment. be closer to. the problem of being fooled for an hour. far away from the memories . a penny for his thoughts. you may despair at the thought that in the long term will change. while this is not even their fault.
yes, they flew. actually. three times round and high. So why not the coffee pot? why not until after pan-Eickel? conspire to ignite .
instances and vote. nervous twitch. tapped rhythms. totally unexpected: arias in s major. killed, and monasteries. vibrating timber. . Image neurosis spoil the pelt. cantus firmus, where are you gone? perfidious geschmunzel. no I do not think you do. and then he dances. hopes . the colorful dances gyro. expectations. and dances. black holes . And dance. hundred times groomed by acid rain. in the end it never makes up . the colored leaves. you're the last instance. a sad sight. you will never understand me . he is tired. rests in the gutter. no . only a matter of time until he throws up. report it adversely winter, autumn in the middle of summer
Wednesday, September 6, 2006
Buy Yokohama G91 Tire 225/65r17
Buy Yokohama G91 Tire 225/65r17
Saturday, September 2, 2006
Optiplex Gx620 Sound Driver Windows Seven
just as long as another soldier
that year, what day, what time - I do not know. only the wording of the sentence, since I road a long time ago on a balmy evening hour in a small said in Paderborn, I know it exactly.
now, years later, I find myself in the place of which I have spoken at that time. However, on the other side. I'm not the one that builds shit, but those who tried to prevent this shit. For a moment I'm the one in puberty before I meet are always wanted. I'm not the one looking up, but that looks destined straight. no, because down, do not look down. was the fault of myself looking straight ahead, straight ahead. It's strange, almost bizarre. "Lucky alternates. Before you, there would have been an open fire. Then I would possibly mitexplodiert." Some figures in this table to remind burnt rubber. and some are simply out of place. but they all belong there, at this table. a space is empty again. "Gastro-intestinal." so fast can go on. clattering coffee cups. Frogs jump. yellow pants and green cups. the coffee is not there. he spreads a pleasant, warm, spicy aroma. diagnoses are established, of which I have desired in childhood often that it finds someone with me. whatever. behavioral patterns are analyzed, I have similar, but far from well down on the day. whatever. and I feel at once again very small. remind me of how it was. and with every sentence I on the white paper with black lines and two small writing on the leaves, with every word I change the situation more of another.
I have a goal plainly. him and, somewhere far away. a guide, the helped me with my one sentence away to find. sometimes it takes a little longer to understand and sometimes you need to back the view to look forward to. he, the boy with the guitar. his few words and the subsequent events have helped me to stand by what I am. each his own world . what I can. held by a small trickle . and do what I want. water red as blood . finally, finally I have the direction I needed. and suddenly I understand. my world, one room was made and sham. on and once I understand what exactly makes this magical attraction. it is the will and the certainty the right thing. it's easy. it is. a simple sentence. life goes easy on me . so simple. most of the time . happy fish. and so it is.
scene changes.
that year, what day, what time - I do not know. only the wording of the sentence, since I road a long time ago on a balmy evening hour in a small said in Paderborn, I know it exactly.
now, years later, I find myself in the place of which I have spoken at that time. However, on the other side. I'm not the one that builds shit, but those who tried to prevent this shit. For a moment I'm the one in puberty before I meet are always wanted. I'm not the one looking up, but that looks destined straight. no, because down, do not look down. was the fault of myself looking straight ahead, straight ahead. It's strange, almost bizarre. "Lucky alternates. Before you, there would have been an open fire. Then I would possibly mitexplodiert." Some figures in this table to remind burnt rubber. and some are simply out of place. but they all belong there, at this table. a space is empty again. "Gastro-intestinal." so fast can go on. clattering coffee cups. Frogs jump. yellow pants and green cups. the coffee is not there. he spreads a pleasant, warm, spicy aroma. diagnoses are established, of which I have desired in childhood often that it finds someone with me. whatever. behavioral patterns are analyzed, I have similar, but far from well down on the day. whatever. and I feel at once again very small. remind me of how it was. and with every sentence I on the white paper with black lines and two small writing on the leaves, with every word I change the situation more of another.
I have a goal plainly. him and, somewhere far away. a guide, the helped me with my one sentence away to find. sometimes it takes a little longer to understand and sometimes you need to back the view to look forward to. he, the boy with the guitar. his few words and the subsequent events have helped me to stand by what I am. each his own world . what I can. held by a small trickle . and do what I want. water red as blood . finally, finally I have the direction I needed. and suddenly I understand. my world, one room was made and sham. on and once I understand what exactly makes this magical attraction. it is the will and the certainty the right thing. it's easy. it is. a simple sentence. life goes easy on me . so simple. most of the time . happy fish. and so it is.
pauses.
scene changes.
the opera is over . Next act. singers have all gone home . The stage shakes.
one year. it's hunting you . a whole year. and wafer-thin ice again. again missed the moment where you just prefer watching from the shore. with the feet remain on solid ground. I do not. you'd expect the same now would not you . yet expired. would not you? directly on ice. not stood still. A penny for your thoughts. I know how it looks there. under the ice. it's all gray. there is no color. it's all quiet. one lives past each other. it's dark like Poe . It is sad. but lately i do not care. I know how it looks there. under the ice. and what happens if I ask your help. my life. already slipped too far. just another soldier. the lost shoe. on the road to nowhere. the combination of hot water and chocolate disappointed. still. it's time for renewal .
one year. it's hunting you . a whole year. and wafer-thin ice again. again missed the moment where you just prefer watching from the shore. with the feet remain on solid ground. I do not. you'd expect the same now would not you . yet expired. would not you? directly on ice. not stood still. A penny for your thoughts. I know how it looks there. under the ice. it's all gray. there is no color. it's all quiet. one lives past each other. it's dark like Poe . It is sad. but lately i do not care. I know how it looks there. under the ice. and what happens if I ask your help. my life. already slipped too far. just another soldier. the lost shoe. on the road to nowhere. the combination of hot water and chocolate disappointed. still. it's time for renewal .
Optiplex Gx620 Sound Driver Windows Seven
just as long as another soldier
that year, what day, what time - I do not know. only the wording of the sentence, since I road a long time ago on a balmy evening hour in a small said in Paderborn, I know it exactly.
now, years later, I find myself in the place of which I have spoken at that time. However, on the other side. I'm not the one that builds shit, but those who tried to prevent this shit. For a moment I'm the one in puberty before I meet are always wanted. I'm not the one looking up, but that looks destined straight. no, because down, do not look down. was the fault of myself looking straight ahead, straight ahead. It's strange, almost bizarre. "Lucky alternates. Before you, there would have been an open fire. Then I would possibly mitexplodiert." Some figures in this table to remind burnt rubber. and some are simply out of place. but they all belong there, at this table. a space is empty again. "Gastro-intestinal." so fast can go on. clattering coffee cups. Frogs jump. yellow pants and green cups. the coffee is not there. he spreads a pleasant, warm, spicy aroma. diagnoses are established, of which I have desired in childhood often that it finds someone with me. whatever. behavioral patterns are analyzed, I have similar, but far from well down on the day. whatever. and I feel at once again very small. remind me of how it was. and with every sentence I on the white paper with black lines and two small writing on the leaves, with every word I change the situation more of another.
I have a goal plainly. him and, somewhere far away. a guide, the helped me with my one sentence away to find. sometimes it takes a little longer to understand and sometimes you need to back the view to look forward to. he, the boy with the guitar. his few words and the subsequent events have helped me to stand by what I am. each his own world . what I can. held by a small trickle . and do what I want. water red as blood . finally, finally I have the direction I needed. and suddenly I understand. my world, one room was made and sham. on and once I understand what exactly makes this magical attraction. it is the will and the certainty the right thing. it's easy. it is. a simple sentence. life goes easy on me . so simple. most of the time . happy fish. and so it is.
scene changes.
that year, what day, what time - I do not know. only the wording of the sentence, since I road a long time ago on a balmy evening hour in a small said in Paderborn, I know it exactly.
now, years later, I find myself in the place of which I have spoken at that time. However, on the other side. I'm not the one that builds shit, but those who tried to prevent this shit. For a moment I'm the one in puberty before I meet are always wanted. I'm not the one looking up, but that looks destined straight. no, because down, do not look down. was the fault of myself looking straight ahead, straight ahead. It's strange, almost bizarre. "Lucky alternates. Before you, there would have been an open fire. Then I would possibly mitexplodiert." Some figures in this table to remind burnt rubber. and some are simply out of place. but they all belong there, at this table. a space is empty again. "Gastro-intestinal." so fast can go on. clattering coffee cups. Frogs jump. yellow pants and green cups. the coffee is not there. he spreads a pleasant, warm, spicy aroma. diagnoses are established, of which I have desired in childhood often that it finds someone with me. whatever. behavioral patterns are analyzed, I have similar, but far from well down on the day. whatever. and I feel at once again very small. remind me of how it was. and with every sentence I on the white paper with black lines and two small writing on the leaves, with every word I change the situation more of another.
I have a goal plainly. him and, somewhere far away. a guide, the helped me with my one sentence away to find. sometimes it takes a little longer to understand and sometimes you need to back the view to look forward to. he, the boy with the guitar. his few words and the subsequent events have helped me to stand by what I am. each his own world . what I can. held by a small trickle . and do what I want. water red as blood . finally, finally I have the direction I needed. and suddenly I understand. my world, one room was made and sham. on and once I understand what exactly makes this magical attraction. it is the will and the certainty the right thing. it's easy. it is. a simple sentence. life goes easy on me . so simple. most of the time . happy fish. and so it is.
pauses.
scene changes.
the opera is over . Next act. singers have all gone home . The stage shakes.
one year. it's hunting you . a whole year. and wafer-thin ice again. again missed the moment where you just prefer watching from the shore. with the feet remain on solid ground. I do not. you'd expect the same now would not you . yet expired. would not you? directly on ice. not stood still. A penny for your thoughts. I know how it looks there. under the ice. it's all gray. there is no color. it's all quiet. one lives past each other. it's dark like Poe . It is sad. but lately i do not care. I know how it looks there. under the ice. and what happens if I ask your help. my life. already slipped too far. just another soldier. the lost shoe. on the road to nowhere. the combination of hot water and chocolate disappointed. still. it's time for renewal .
one year. it's hunting you . a whole year. and wafer-thin ice again. again missed the moment where you just prefer watching from the shore. with the feet remain on solid ground. I do not. you'd expect the same now would not you . yet expired. would not you? directly on ice. not stood still. A penny for your thoughts. I know how it looks there. under the ice. it's all gray. there is no color. it's all quiet. one lives past each other. it's dark like Poe . It is sad. but lately i do not care. I know how it looks there. under the ice. and what happens if I ask your help. my life. already slipped too far. just another soldier. the lost shoe. on the road to nowhere. the combination of hot water and chocolate disappointed. still. it's time for renewal .
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