BANGBROS – Big Booty Latina Kelsi Monroe’s Reverse Bang Bus Part 3

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The pile of bills lying on the plastic counter will first release only thin black smoke and then as the clerk blows on it the fire will build up and in no time it will incinerate all the millions into frayed wind The smoke alarm starts squawking and a spray of water breaks out from the pins in the ceiling
There's screaming Rushing employees screaming clients helpless security guard
15 minutes later the blue-and-red lights of fire trucks are flashing across the crowded square the police car coming in from more and more places and the nervous phone calls give wings to whispering rumors: the bank has been robbed
A couple in love makes a lot of love when they kiss Their shape is slowly absorbed by the evening
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Walking down this dusty sidewalk after day and day is like the pain of a shadow with no light The cold of the night of November runs through my skin it drifts under my shirt it squirts soundly like curiosity between childish thoughts My childish thoughts are the last to be consumed by the poison of adulthood
In the light of the streetlights the black spot behind me extends beyond the shape of my body and at this time I hasten my steps with my head down like Aries and I wish I could go in the dark without light
Total darkness
Out of all the gray
The Spider-chewed walls of the ghastly tenement house provide just as much comfort as the dusty street in the Half-Light The most hated part of my day is when I realize I'm almost home The old skull of the landlord is covered with skin a white thread of desert landscape his greeting is a shriveled sigh of drought trapped in the gravel and I am listening to it as a dried skeleton
I come home every day at 10: 00 pm serving in a world of fleshy and emotional handles and gears and my day-to-day existence is required until 10: 00 pm He seems smart enough to make it up strong enough to control it but I'm guessing before it dies they're all parts no better than me used up to 8: 00 at the most not until 10: 00
The day-lightless Black is painted slightly by the green curtains and the butterfly waiting in the cocoon sees the same its disgust is restrained only by hope the countdown of the days until it hatches parading with its colorful wings to the lying flowers
TV Yesterday you told me to be healthy charming pleasant and rich
Radio Yesterday you said something exploded somewhere
Internet Yesterday he explained to me what made me thin beautiful pleasant and rich and he also explained why something would explode
These three things are my complex Caterpillar eyes and without them I'd be crawling to the wrong place for sure In the rot the night slowly collapses beneath me I fall asleep on the sofa with my shoes bandaged on my feet I dream of smell and a little dew
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The winged butterfly waits for the dying to ask for the dance The red petal Rose was just a cover for a carnivorous insect and the formal invitation to dinner was the wrapping paper of the sexual accessory The hole has a soul no one cares
Magazines They grieve side by side comfort my soul but only because I have money for them
Girlfriends They grieve side by side convinced that I'm not the loser which means that they who are like me would also be losers
Internet It explains why I'm so much better than my girlfriends and why I shouldn't believe in magazines because they just want my money
My butterflies how do you explain this cursed world this betrayal because I still couldn't believe it not even for you The bloody restaurant is calling me with the smell and the lights of a foreign country and I look like a graveyard priest coming to a wedding Roses fall to the ground The last windshift to welcome the cold in the evening will kiss my neck ignoring my hopeless scarf and drive me to my feet The knock of my boots is the sound of the street from the age of my picture The former dac is exhausted my eyes lack sparks of anger my heart is pumping salt instead of blood my face is only held in place by the fixed makeup and the cooling air
The apartment I moved to in my good-luck years is on the third floor of a brick house from hell a staircase with a dark throat that smells like bile the light of saliva is nauseating from the slippery walls of Mosaic the watery edge of the brown stairs It gives me the creeps I cling with both hands on the frigid railing hardly believing it would hold me if I slipped
It's 10: 00 As I give the keys to the many locks what I didn't give him light will light up on the floor below me I'm having a wild idea to see who it is and then I think of my vow of solitude tonight and banish myself to the convent of my apartment In the steaming water of the bath memory is slowly watered even the thought of a hair dryer in the foam does not make me smile leaden acceptance rings my body which is already considered a tool for a bitter sleep
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