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Trunks, dripping slowly into the gutter and the floor. Canopy's stretched black.
When we were young, we could piss up the boys' boat wall. A black expanse of pitch, or tar, or whatever it was.
It doesn’t matter much anymore.
And tussles with the girls before the advent of pubescent
awe and confusion.
Knickers thick, pasty in the roar of adolescence’s dawn.
How innocent and cruel ran the gauntlet of first stirrings in the changing rooms of May.
Where are you now? Don’t answer that.
I’m still ugly. You’re still fat.
I’ve still got spots. I’m still afraid.
Our parents made us what we are. Or was it God?
Who gives a fuck? It’s never really over.

Text přidal Lucullus

Video přidal roman59

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Is This the Life We Really Want?

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