strangely, sitting in the salon, drooling over coffee wlan and
a few books just bought at a local *bouquiniste* flea market, suddenly feeling a way too fluffy nostalgia by listening to an old cure song like
others might have when reminiscing over the *weimar republic*, hi ho.
a girl nearby is softly clicking away on her laptop, the place is quiet, rain is pouring outside.
a wounded heart is nothing but ashes of memories - oh no, the last one is from the refreshingly honest
*20 fragments of a ravenous youth*. read it, ok?
