Monet1

SmokeShe leaned against the wall. They were both tired now. He was standing beside her smoking a cigarette. The wispy smoke curled upwards in complex patterns before dissolving into the night air.Smoke
It was a crisp, clean sort of night. Cold too, but they didn’t mind that. The silence consumed them, but it wasn’t awkward. There weren’t many on the streets at this time. The street-lamps casted a sickly yellow light over the path before them, illuminating the road with its ugly glow. She could hear his breathing. It was deep and soft, and occasionally interrupted by long drags on a cigarette. She wasn’t looking at him, but his breat


Billy He was having milk and cookies when I came running into the kitchen, horrified that three of the twenty-seven freckles that had been on my left shoulder the week before were MIA. At hearing this, he set down his glass, which was far more impressive than the sippy-cup I used, and wiped the milk mustache from his upper lip with his sleeve. He then slid his chair from the table and knelt at my eye-level, a rather dramatic gesture for a Saturday afternoon. From the way he held my shoulders and shook is head, I was afraid he might cry and, because I knew boys didn’t cry, I became that mucBilly
Dog'd
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Jonathan Wong |artofwong.com
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Tá tu aerach!!
Níl sé an rud a dúirt do mham aréir!!
Yeah, I made him an Esq.
Deal with it.
luuuurve,
Liz
*smex*
Sharon.
--
Tá tu aerach!!
Níl sé an rud a dúirt do mham aréir!!
--
Tá tu aerach!!
Níl sé an rud a dúirt do mham aréir!!
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