Where Do Biker Patches Go

restaurant

Street panics. People are running tight on themselves. The night comes and goes with the cold. In noise, two stand out. Face hidden by a thick scarf, a man holds the hand of a woman. The glove she wears a little warmer. The crowd is dense. It slips away by clever movements. People do not touch. As if we did not like that. A scuffle, a reproach, it is a logical continuation in the streets now. Fortunately this is not always like that. The couple turns. The long coat of the young woman disappears from the street. Nobody had noticed them. Whatever they have been observed person. It is a strong indifference prevailing in the street. People do look older. It often they pursue time. They run tirelessly against the latter. It lost a race, and yet ...
And if people cross your eyes, they turn against you, sometimes unpleasantly support. It is true that the reverse is present, but he dominates? It would reverse this so that this is the only on sidewalks and roads. What are the reasons why people express as reproaches to strangers they will only pass?
The couple entered the streets again almost unchanged from before. The crosses in a race. By chance during their short absence the street is a bit empty. The scarf was a bit undone neck the pace they needed to make us forget the cold. Now, the woman dragged a handbag behind her. Suddenly they stop. Facing them shines the window of a restaurant. Inside, the room is bathed by the light emanating from the tables, ceiling and countertops. The day seems longer. White tablecloths cover the tables, which are framed by high wooden chairs. The large square plates waiting to be filled, sit beside the many covered. Basically, we hardly hear the din of busy kitchens. The door opens. The cold penetrates the room briefly. The eyes rest on the couple. They do not attract attention for long. Their table was reserved. They cross the room. Not a word. Thus, people come and go, meet and find themselves in the same place, but they seem that it is in selfishness. Yet birthdays, marriage proposals, all these joys, we shared times when one does not know exist. People do want more does not it? Be greedy shared his happiness seems to be prohibited. The couple moved
. They mix their eyes, and man is lost in endless dreams that are born in the eyes of his beloved. So beautiful and elegant in that dress that hides her little shoulders and offers his back eyes delighted. Playing his leg, she furtively pass through the slit of her dress to hide away under the folds of her foot. The man is charmed but on the other are too. Ignored before, now observed too. Like a charm breaker, innocently server interrupt the game of seduction by making the card. Look again troubled man cycles through its eyes to the many black lines on the menu. In these courses available to them, they must choose. One prefers fish, the other tender meat, it chooses its accompanying sauce, wine, until dessert. These choices are numerous, but so simple. And foremost personal. They discuss with the server, the attacker issues. Then they make their choice. Later they will be served, dine, and finally emerge from this place. Countless faces in the spirit of the servers, they will be quickly forgotten and their smiles that were offered are already assigned to other customers. It is an ephemeral evening barely marked by laughter. Simple memories fugitives, a futile evening that finds no equal in happiness that this has offered at this time. The restaurant, just a place without question. Interruption easy life. Sometimes selfish, whatever. Place easily resolved, where life flows smoothly. When I think about the ease that these people have to choose their meals, I jealous. And more envy the indifference of others to their choice. People seem so incapable of accepting personal choices, to dépourvoir-judgmental. Yet they are trapped within the walls of a restaurant, or free home, these personal choices should be submitted only to our judgments. I would have the same ease as any choice, as we choose to prefer chocolate or vanilla.

text amended 4:10:05


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What Happens When Men Ejaculate In A Woman

Petanque

Sheltered by large maples busy lives. A lifting of hands, a thud, or sometimes from successive small squeal for gravel, which are exchanged glances, it's a picture that is emerging ephemeral. It's there under a gentle sun, that we find parts of bowling. No pastis, or accent, but still a few spectators or bystanders. A little breeze refreshes the face and pushes the leaves dropped Automne by age. And when the leaves flutter to the players, we wonder who has the greatest age. The leaf turns proud beautiful colors of yellow, red, orange, brown mixed, or the ball launchers whose hands are covered with wrinkles. The same pitchers who post their senior smiles framed with two large wrinkles.
That smile. It makes them so young. It erases the traces of age, although sometimes age comes on at a gallop, betrayed by those who have jaws too served and were denuded of their beautiful ornaments. But still that smile, it makes them jealous, including me. These are not the best days in my head. The sun is shining, but my mind is dull. Finally, to see where all these people talking to each other, smile, encourage each other. Sometimes a higher voice, to scold, but also welcomed. It's a simple show, a blue sky, three trees, shade, a large number of balls, people for the launch, some piglets, a chair for some, and here is an afternoon that promises many happy . Laughter, eyes that sparkle, jokes and some jokes that make everyone laugh except that covered. Look, he smiles now, not so very long.
They bear the brunt of their lives, but our eyes panicked as we try to follow their movements, our ears become confused when their words are scrambling. To see the happiness is easy to reach. Everyone has had his life, happy or sad? Romantic or lonely? complicated or simple? A bit of everything, perhaps. All this is behind them, which in large part. They already have all the answers to the questions I ask myself. It's a chance. I think they are lucky to be who they are. When they must think I'm lucky to be able to choose everything, you can create all the better. More than ready to take the jack. Tends an arm, a ball spinning in the air, hits the ground. Cling! a pebble. She flees from its trajectory, away from its goal. You can do your best, apply, the better. Anything can fail. After a little further, another through the air. Descends. Bang, shouts rise. Joy. The ball errs, the other goes further. The obstructions can interfere more. Thus every turn is not harmful.
They make me smile all those people. I would like at their age to play quietly in a ball or two. With so many people they are. And by then, what will he go? Is there still a lot of cling, or a lot of bang? Oh all these questions, this uncertainty. I am a little confused. I terrifies me a lot. Time passes I have to depart.
And if life was a game of bowls, both under a lifetime, to choose a direction, scale ... which can lead to joy, but a stone may distort everything. Here, we propose a broom to remove the stones forger. But it's already too late. Being the best player does not guarantee the best part. At least, all these people they made me smile and gave me a little joy to the heart. It's simple, but it's nice to see that it is simple to construct a piece of good time, it reassures, it's good, it motivates. What
bocce offers them much laughter.


This Creation Is licensed Under a Creative Commons Attribution - Noncommercial - No Derivative Works 2.0 France License .