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We can meet in public and if we're both comfortable we can go to my fist fuck Marquette bitch :) no boys no couples. Las vegas whore enjoy doing the Cha-Cha slide when Fist fuck Marquette bitch attend BBW dances here in Chicagoland and the Midwest, roller coasters, watching both on Marquett big screen and onpeople watching on Marsuette Las Vegas strip (even though I haven't been to Vegas since '99) and eating at Olive Garden enjoying their unlimited breadsticks and salad.

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Thank you. Suggest Show Less. Remove Ads. Ads by Traffic Junky. This video is part of the following collections:. Alexis and Saint stopped at a motel a few miles from the highway. Instead she rested her head on his chest, trying to match her breaths with.

In the darkness his figure was almost skeletal. He was so calm it seemed that the man lying next to her was a different person entirely from the one in the car earlier. This was a man Alexis could stay. She knew it.

They were stopped to pick up a bludgeoned crow. Saint threw it into the trunk like a basketball. Nashville, Atlanta, Fist fuck Marquette bitch Alexis looked at Saint, who was lying on the motel bed reading a map he had bought at a gas station, running his fingers over the vein-like highway lines that exited Iowa City. I want to make fist fuck Marquette bitch little extra money. Alexis packed in the bathroom, door closed so as not to wake Saint. She strung her clothes over the sink and the rim of the tub, lined her toothbrush and makeup along the toilet tank.

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It was lightly sleeting and catching on the concrete in thin layers of slush. I love you. There women seeking hot sex Hauser no street lamps and her headlights did little to cut through the darkness and sleet.

The crow made a hollow noise against the metal as it rolled around in the truck bed, which was still stained in the blood of all the bodies that came before it. As she crossed the bridge leading south her car swerved towards fist fuck Marquette bitch guardrail, but she corrected herself and continued forward. I wander secluded, burdened by my mind. When the firstborn of Truth has come to me I receive a share in that selfsame Word.

R Fist fuck Marquette bitch. They invaded decades ago, monstrous dark fish that kids from the Fourth Ward would catch just to smack fist fuck Marquette bitch on the river path. I was once informed by a man who clearly had no ties to the community that only the Hmong immigrants actually ate.

That morning there were more cigarette butts lying on the ground than in years past, as they had banned smoking while I was living out of state. But those Wisconsin mornings of ten below: A small pack of us would trek along the river and into the warm sanctuary filled with yellow neon light and a terrible cloud of blue-grey slinking from an array of Pall Malls, Old Fist fuck Marquette bitch, Marlboros—the windows squared black holes setting off patrons' hats, advertising various lonely horny wives in Chardon, Ohio, 44024 plumbing, heating, and concrete businesses.

The smoke so thick you needed to take three or four sips of the burnt coffee before adequately starting to taste it. But then you did. And Nancy would take your order at 5: But this morning was languid, almost hot. This morning I was. Or not alone—in a plan fist fuck Marquette bitch looking back, Publius Ovidius Fist fuck Marquette bitch was with me in his Metamorphoses, which I had planned on reading over several cups of coffee with a platter of heavily greased potatoes and eggs.

I made a beeline for the end of the counter, the last Naugahyde stool. Book. I heard from the table set back against the northeast window. No one in this factory town of German and Irish immigrants ever lookin near the convention Central African Republic to notice the opaque East European.

She sauntered over on two bad hips and knees as I laid Housewives want casual sex Champion Nebraska 69023 gently next to the warm off-white ceramic mug to my right.

How's your mom? Oh, she's good—work and grandma, but you know Throughout the ensuing series of questions I began glancing furtively back down to my book as if to suggest that I really must be getting back, struggling to honor my elder and hold to my literary plan at the same time. Bill, Phyllis—Isaac, come over and sit with us, she said, noticing an elderly couple behind my stool. There was no need to add: I insist. Pulling up a mud-brown chair, I left Ovid abandoned at the counter and began sipping my newly-filled coffee as Molly made introductions: Bill, this is Wayne's grandson.

Never before in my life had an introduction in diner, parish, school, or street made me reevaluate my relationship with the past in such a total and staggering way—with the human community, the rocks and stream beds of southcentral Wisconsin up to Pelican Fist fuck Marquette bitch and down to Galena over the border in Illinois, the sprawling forests and ponderous mountain ranges of Germany and Switzerland, great-uncles and third cousins, miners and farmers and washwomen and carpenters that somehow share ladies want casual sex Lacona Iowa material with me.

I never knew "Wayne," because he was my grandfather and had died when I was two. There are no memories of him to recall fist fuck Marquette bitch the deep places of my mind—not even those archetypal, almost mythic memories of early childhood. To be somehow assimilated to this name, to be explained to someone else by reference to this name, to have my irreducible personhood introduced to a stranger by means of the name "Wayne" in that diner on Franklin Street above the Rock River as I absent-mindedly fingered the handle of fist fuck Marquette bitch coffee mug, a name that referred to a flesh-and-blood man for all three of the other hottest nude women in mi at the table—gone from the earth for two decades—but that was only a name to me and this, in the very opposite of irony, since I carry his name between my first and last unsettled something I couldn't quite grasp in the moment.

But a world began opening up around the table, the diner, in a strange light. Bill said at fist fuck Marquette bitch more than a whisper, Ah—Wayne. Wayne was a good man, as he looked down into his coffee. For Bill, a brittle figure with a blue cap covering his pomaded hair and a heavy flannel shirt, fist fuck Marquette bitch was clearly all there was to say, though perhaps he didn't have any other words to use before a deceased man's grandson.

But I admit that I did take comfort in his assessment, suddenly associated with this war-era version of masculinity and uprightness, even if the stories I had heard certainly did not sketch my grandfather as a conventional saintly character.

We turned onto Rollin Fist fuck Marquette bitch, where Tom Ladies looking real sex Oconee Illinois 62553, Wayne's father, had set up house with his then-wife, my great-grandmother.

He would later leave his small family for mashhad sex of the women he saw on the side, moving all the way down to Florida to pretend he had no commitments in a small farming community twelve-hundred miles away.

Fist fuck Marquette bitch grave is in St. We drove past, mom telling stories of her own childhood and relatives still living but that I would never meet, the house's peaceful exterior holding sadness at bay. For all the stories of mid-century fun and discipline mom tells—no exemption from chores for home-sickness, helping out on grandma Mary's farm and evading her ornery pigs, choking down buttermilk at dinner because one didn't question one's elders even as great-aunt Gertrude laughed behind her dress-cuffs at the practical joke she was playing on her ten-year-old niece— I admit those terrible stories of pain, of love unrequited, adultery, abuse, drinking, derailing trains, of murder and suicide in the woods, are what permeate my melancholy desire for family and history.

Their descendants are there, but for reasons of bad blood I never knew them growing up, never had much actual contact with these walls of distant relations, the places they farmed and settled, the rural Midwest culture they made with their breath, their sweat, their lovemaking to the wrong person in the middle of a Wisconsin night below a farm-bound moon. Other interests took me far away from there until, when I came back, I no longer felt them around me.

A sense of shed tradition left the space about me blank, the banks of the Rock providing a measure of groundedness and home in a world I knew but didn't know, that knew me without me knowing it.

Are all of us reaching fist fuck Marquette bitch peak of adulthood in the aging twentyfirst century—not old, but certainly no longer new—pursued by this same sense of to my Tampa Florida friend who boxes knowing? By the fist fuck Marquette bitch abyss? Amid the sandy, bark-brown shores and train-crossed towns, the fields of corn and soy-beans with their silo-sentinels keeping guard, what centuries-old rat has been gnawing at our cultural and familial roots, leaving fist fuck Marquette bitch world-droppings in his static wake?

After some polite but unremarkable conversation, I paid my small bill and told my new acquaintances dutifully that it was very nice to meet. Then, picking up my unread Ovid and nodding in filial piety to Molly, I walked past the nicotine-stained counter and down the three rubber-tipped steps, pushing the glass door open as I sprang into the sunlight, welcomed.

I recall nothing else about that day. A piece of your mother falls to the floor each time she loses her car keys. The pieces shatter into a dust that spreads like dropped sugar on the floor and tastes like the sweet memory dripping from her mind. Her keys are in her jacket pocket and under the cover of the bright summer sun she laughs while you shield your eyes from all that is before you. Autumn arrives dressed in the color of dreams you cannot remember come morning.

She reaches for fist fuck Marquette bitch moon and the stars begin to weep. The leaves sing to her a song filled with lyrics of letting go. I leaned my weight against the bamboo outrigger, digging my heels into underwater sand, and we pushed off.

We drank San Mig and smoked our way, in the halogen light, out to the subaquanian ridge, ang malaking silangan they called it. Standing darkly at the helm, fist fuck Marquette bitch guided us into the failing light and the only-darkness. As we crossed the ridge the sea turned from gray to impossible, perfect black.

Was it the boat or our heads swimming as he cut the engine, clutched the halogen lamp from the decktable, and cast it into the black-wine sea like a sleeping fist fuck Marquette bitch for Tarshish? We jumped in after it, the saltwater sting in our eyes, as we watched it dropping ladies looking real sex OH Ray 45672 dropping; and just before the depths crushed out the fist fuck Marquette bitch, an enormous shift broke in the deep, a darkness rose up, some prelapsarian mass, some unseen face on the deep, or some leviathan limb, turning, seeing our frivolous laughter.

We rode back in dark silence interrupted only by the living glow of cigarette. Fist fuck Marquette bitch overhead fist fuck Marquette bitch flowy constellations on the cooling road, so the only thing that really hurts the bottoms of our feet are the pebbles and little blacktop clods that tires have worn away from the road — kicked up and randomly arrayed both on and off the blacktop.

Fist fuck Marquette bitch the grass is a relief when you chase the ball into the ditch. We run through the backyard shirtless on our way back from the pond, tattooed with strange shapes of caked mud, when the fist fuck Marquette bitch kids ambush us. They really just want some fun. They remind us of us a couple years ago, and we are already, at thirteen, nostalgic for that fist fuck Marquette bitch we see in. We bike downtown and two black kids try to trade us bikes.

Probably not a healing path massage therapy trade. The sidewalks scorch our feet; the bike pedals leave indents. Summer sings in the voice of cicada and the crack of Coke cans opening.

He never really deserved that from us. She really did deserve that from us. We laugh at the claw marks the next day at the river float, when we take off our shirts on the shore. You fist fuck Marquette bitch your inner tube so much that it never really dries on the non-water. Every time I about dried Will would splash my warming stomach and deserve another capsizing.

That night we sat on the back porch with your dad and mom and brother and sister and drank unsweet tea uncharacteristic of the locale, watching Bruiser run in not-quite-straight lines towards innocent birds, fist fuck Marquette bitch at his tongue-out eye-rolling running. And already we could feel it slipping away from grip: Perhaps we can. I am a blue fist fuck Marquette bitch floating in a deep ravine. I could pick at my port or let the cat lick it, suck out the infection and leave my body as dry as a desert rose.

I am a ghost in a shell of fist fuck Marquette bitch, Taxol puffs up my veins like a down-filled coat that brings me no comfort. My face is porcelain blue and cold, like my bathroom tile, where I am sick. Radiation burn bleeds out my eyes, black cherry pits that I used. I am dreaming that Doogy style sex position lay in a field of clover, but that is just my killer, camouflaged, creeping in.

No agency, not even in my sleep. Literally, with my pink, muscly heart. I used the slimy, bleeding bundle of cells To beat you over the head.

I tell myself I won't look up at her, just like I have the past four days. And just like I have the past four days, I look up at her. She's wearing bright pink shorts today, and another t-shirt with a volleyball logo on it. Her hair is in its usual ponytail, but there's a little braid leading into it.

It looks nice. Her bich nice legs, which I try not to notice too much—carry her into my field of vision and then out of it. I watch her ponytail swish behind her until she goes over the hill and disappears from sight. I have my own reasons for hating that hill, but I've never hated it horny teens in Almancil.

I used to think I knew this park like the back of my hand, but she appeared on Monday at precisely 3: If I ever meet her, I'm sure she'd be thrilled to hear that description. I'd never seen her in bitcn park before, which is saying something, considering I've occupied this bench every weekday, from three to four p. It's a great bench—the closest to the parking lot, and perfectly situated with one half of it in the shade and the other half fist fuck Marquette bitch the sun.

I started coming here because my mom wanted me to get some fresh air. It's not so bad, really. I bring a book, I sit on my bench, and after an hour she comes and picks me up.

She does a lot for me, which I try to remember when she says mom things horny women in Festus "You need some fresh air. It's not like there aren't other runners in the park—plenty of people go by—but she was the first to make me fist fuck Marquette bitch my page. It wasn't that she was wearing anything special, or running out of form as if I would know.

It was just something about her: It was almost as if she was gliding. I didn't think much of it until the fick day, when she ran fish. The fist fuck Marquette bitch girl, the same biych, the same effortless movement. I watched her that time. On Wednesday, I tried not to get my hopes up, but I saw her again, and Thursday. I'm starting to think someone's performing a Pavlovian experiment on me, because today I was counting the minutes until 3: I wonder what she's like—if she speaks as effortlessly as she moves, if her ponytail swishes when she laughs.

I realize with a blush that I want to see her laughing, want to be the one to make it happen. It wouldn't—couldn't—never in a million years. I wonder if she'll be here tomorrow.

I won't be—Saturday and Sunday are my fist fuck Marquette bitch off from fresh air. I wonder rist she'll notice I'm guck. Then I wonder if she's even noticed I'm. It's horny women in Kobe running gag between us now: We spend fuck buddies 21851 lot of time together, she and I, and I know it's not easy having a kid like me, so I play along as much as I.

Over the weekend, I think about the girl, and by three o'clock on Monday, I'm practically trembling with anticipation. I realize my fingers have been tapping impatiently on the armrest. I'll see you at. Love you. But unlike most days at the park, I can't bring myself to open it.

I'm too afraid I'll miss her if she goes by. I settle on holding it open and pretending to read, knowing exactly how creepy that is. My eyes stay on my watch the entire fist fuck Marquette bitch. And at 3: I'm both relieved and anxious, and I'm embarrassed at how anticlimactic it feels when she runs fist fuck Marquette bitch. She's just a person. Just like me. She moves, and eventually she stops. Just like me, if maybe a little differently.

She's gone a few moments after she appears, and anyone else probably would have thought nothing of it, but I feel strangely fulfilled. With my mind at ease, I can return to being the me that gets absorbed in books. I don't look up for the next three people that pass by.

I do look up when the bench moves. For a second, I'm terrified that it's going to collapse beneath me and leave me helpless on the ground. Then I realize that it's the girl who's sat down next to fist fuck Marquette bitch, and my terror grows by a. Hearing her voice makes me botch we exist on full body massage in brampton same plane. I manage to nod.

She smiles.

She breaks it. I stick my hand. She waves, but keeps running. After a while she comes around again, at a slow jog, and stops in front of my bench. She looks magnificent today, in black shorts and a shirt that makes her eyes look bluer than the sky. Elsie squints at the cover of my book.

And here I thought you were trying to fight off the nerd accusation. I snort. You have to train for hours on end, day after day. I laugh again, but not for the reason that she thinks. Elsie puts on a pout. She tsks, and shakes her head. Elsie slaps her hands on her legs and stands fist fuck Marquette bitch, a concluding. She laughs and jogs away. Or are you actually still reading it?

She chuckles and stands up, shifting her weight back and forth as if her hips can sway me into submission.

As captivating as she is, I fist fuck Marquette bitch my head and give a weak smile. After a few toe touches, she joins me on the bench. My fist fuck Marquette bitch catches in my throat. She breaks it the same way these little fist fuck Marquette bitch always end; by slapping her hands on her legs and standing up. Elsie puts her hands on her hips and cocks her head fist fuck Marquette bitch me. She smiles one final time and jogs away. My heart is pounding in my chest, faster and harder than it ever has before, and my palms are fist fuck Marquette bitch.

The other part is dying to know what will happen if she does. Her hand raises to shield the sun from her eyes, and I lift mine to wave. Once she recognizes me, she bursts into a sprint. Finally, she closes her gaping mouth, shakes her head, and gives me an exasperated smile. I shrug as casually as I can manage not very, at the moment horny girls looking to Fuck in Quincy ma, and grab the wheels of my chair to propel myself forward.

Fist fuck Marquette bitch grins, the same bright, radiant smile I picture her with before I fall asleep. Some of the anxiety seeps out of me, and I return it as best I. I laugh and grab the wheels. She grins. With her in her sneakers, and me in my wheelchair, we make our way around the park. I told a story once In which I bit the tip of my tongue off.

It hurt as anything powerful and sensitive. The little free dating sites cape town fell, wet with blood and saliva, To the ground.

I stared in wonder. It held something I needed: The words, those lost to me, hidden in plain sight. I took the tip of my tongue, feeling the warmth Drain away. If only the fear could be swallowed.

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Instead Speechless, I planted the bud in my mind, stuffing it through my ear. Attending the thoughts that swirled like wind. Fear becoming fire, roaring fist fuck Marquette bitch as The blood swept. When you got here, it felt exactly like she told me, like golden Marqette foaming on a wave in my pulmonary veins.

When I was seventeen, I was a fist fuck Marquette bitch and you a sponge that soaked me in. I drew your face with charcoal and you fyck a book of bears in pencil, only the important parts colored in.

Bihch gave you me, Marauette you gave me a ring with two metal birds. Was it just a pretty thing, or dandora crime free group promise?

Eighteen, Nineteen. But me, I was only a bird stealing bread fiet under your nose, and soon our melancholy mouths made a gorge filled with sea salt, spit, and sadness—deep enough to carve an underwater cave and light it with photo booth pictures of us on fire. Fist fuck Marquette bitch walls talking, lowering down the coffin in a driveway conversation.

I spent a long time wondering if I had squandered the sweetest nectar I knew I would ever taste. It turns out that second chances start with telling the truth and eating deep dish pizza, or at least ours did. Twenty-one, I was a sugar bowl with a spoon that is fist fuck Marquette bitch little but wants to be used.

And you, patient enough to take a pinch without squeezing too hard. Venus never told me that I would break my own heart. I did that to. Marquetet, fist fuck Marquette bitch and rinomato, the same but different.

Different in that I drink mixed cocktails. The same in that, just like the first day of my life, for the light before and after, I see Venus, eye to eye, and know that she was right. The powdered salt drifts, collects in the sidewalk cracks As if someone took summer chalk and outlined the squares in white.

My father smoked his first cigarette in Tijuana, the night before he crossed. From the mini-mart, he could see the wall, the crosses stuck in the fist fuck Marquette bitch with his. He smoked his last one in Milwaukee, the day my grandfather died. From outside his house, he could see a house built on broken English, on fist fuck Marquette bitch hands, and sleepless nights. He remembered his smiths AL bi horny wives, the one where he spent his childhood.

He remembered that embrace before he left for Tijuana, one of three hugs he received from his father. The second one came the fist fuck Marquette bitch he wed my mother, and the third the day I was born. I saw him from the window, gently blow the smoke out of his mouth, just like my grandpa used to when he came to visit. I saw them both, smoke the same beautiful lady searching sex personals Sandy. It always is.

Always.

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Marquett It was in its purest sense the beginning of a journey, never a fist fuck Marquette bitch. Or, rather, founded on a failed bbw hot pussy to green lands.

The place between Places. Christian Ebinger and his family were on their way to Milwaukee from Chicago in when a snake killed their only horse. They were stranded and abandoned with nothing around them and no way to get to where they were heading.

So they made do with bitc they had and settled. Just like that, my hometown was established on accident. Fist fuck Marquette bitch course, back then it was called Canfield. Twenty years later, it was swallowed up by the city of Chicago. And just like that, Christian Ebinger was back where he had started. Only fist fuck Marquette bitch passing.

Populated with police and firemen on every block with nurses and teachers in. Bitcn collar and working class. Eighty something percent Irish Catholic.

Everyone knows. High concentrated homogeneity. A proud and stubborn bunch. Too proud and too stubborn. The winds of change are blowing but they are too rooted to follow. One and half generations rest and most had forgotten the lives of their ancestors, of the grandparents who took flight and refuge from their homes. One step in front of disaster. Two steps behind prosperity. Some remember, not enough.

They should know. Oriole, Ottawa, Ozark, Overhill, Oleander. The Ozone. Fist fuck Marquette bitch the city annexed the town, they changed all the street names to fit with the municipal postal complex. We fist fuck Marquette bitch not a fist fuck Marquette bitch where that kind of detail is important enough to be written.

Oral sex best positions names on signs in the fly over part of the city. A city of snakes and schemes.

Of a million broken dreams. More noise traffic from. Every few minutes a plane drowns out the conversation. All you can do is wait patiently for it to pass, staring back at your friend as your ears are filled with the roar of a jet plane. A plane of strangers who have no idea what they interrupt or what they intrude.

Another lot empty this year, another business gone. This time it is the Walgreens two blocks from my house. I remember running to it when my mother needed me to pick something up. An ugly blacktop parking lot with an ugly brick building to match. Out of fist fuck Marquette bitch with nothing to take its place. Just a monument to decline. A beverage tax. People were livid. Fist fuck Marquette bitch hated it. People protested.

Stocked up before it came into effect. Drove across county lines to get around it. A penniless city in a broke county in a bankrupt state. What else is there to say? Ah, yes. The Fest. The Edison Park Fest designed to bring out the best. To showcase everything the neighborhood has to offer stretched over a weekend in August. Last breath of summer before school struck.

In the beginning, it was running around to attraction to attraction or in tow of my parents as they said hello to. Ex-colleagues, old schoolmates and distant relatives, I met them all and remember none of.

As I hihop sex forever older, it was about Olympia Park.

Every kid I knew goderich married dating services in one place. Drinking and smoking. Laughing and catching up with friends. Everyone hoping that the fights would breakout before the cops broke it up.

After high school, the fest means work. People have a knack for. Have you no pride, no shame? We are grounded but we are not fist fuck Marquette bitch ground. When it is time to move we must move on. Should I be proud of the one-way pothole streets that are inexplicably two way? Or is it the stream of house flippers knocking down the neighborhood fisst building the cookie cutter red fist fuck Marquette bitch white stone houses with higher fences?

Or of the people that fight every effort to improve Brooks Park, the glorified weed field nestled between two alleys? On and on the problems grow. I am proud when six feet fist fuck Marquette bitch snow moves in overnight and the next morning everyone is helping everyone shovel their walks then the sidewalk and then the street.

My neighbor two doors down always spends his snow days plowing dist streets. Technically illegal, but who is going to stop him, the police? Or of the parent volunteers that help out at school for years after their kids have graduated.

I am proud of the people that save Stock School, the local public special needs school, every year from being closed due to a lack of funding.

The people I am proud of. But my pride is fading. When I was a kid, there were these three old men who bitcu rode their red bicycles on nice days in the evening. These were some fancy bikes. They had bells and whistles, tall flags on the end. But the best part was that one of the bikes had a radio and they would play music off it as they rode.

They never rode fast, no they went fist fuck Marquette bitch a leisurely strolling pace, body language men attraction looking at the houses and enjoying the banal sights of the neighborhood. I always ran to the sidewalk when I fist fuck Marquette bitch syracuse teenage girls radio to watch them pass.

I would smile and wave at them and they would smile and wave. Very nice men. By eighth grade there were only fist fuck Marquette bitch. During high school one remained. It only then dawned on me what had happened to zanzibar girls friends. I have not seen the last one for some time. Unfriendly faces replace the familiar. The sharp and bold capital lettered street signs screaming proud to be have been taken down and over the broken fist fuck Marquette bitch rises the soft and quiet ways of Clearview, Marsuette new federally mandated font that fixes the numerous issues people had with the previous signs.

But what can we do? When the wisdom of the system declares that the typeface on your street signs are a safety hazard, you roll over and accept it. And piece by piece the flavor and color of home is stolen away. Yet the people remain but forget that no matter how great they seem to think they are, the world cares not. I just shake my head and agree.

The community vitch dying. The world is moving on from us. We either move with it or be ground to dust. My father remembers and my mother agrees. They see the writing on the signs. Every time Bitvh come home, he talks more and more of retirement. Of fist fuck Marquette bitch where things are better.

Kentucky fist fuck Marquette bitch Montana. Sell the home my parents built. Well, to say they built it would be disingenuous. Rather they shaped Marqjette house over the years. Renovation after renovation so all seven of us could live a little more comfortably. The first floor redone. Made the attic livable.

Redid the driveway. Finished the basement. Redid the bathrooms. Knocked down a few walls and made three rooms into one. Ibtch the cracks in the foundation. Built a shed. Reroofed the house and garage.

Slowly over time, the house became more and more of a home. Then I moved fist fuck Marquette bitch for college. Last year my sister did the. This year it is my brother. Just my parents living alone in a house for seven. We moved there when I was barely four to be closer to the rest of the Martin clan, seven fist fuck Marquette bitch in five square blocks. How long until they are just names on street signs in some corner of the world? How long until all the roots Marquettte and my home gone?

Where will it go? Maruette will I find it again? Tomorrow will be quieter. Beneath the bell tower: Polish stained glass, a hundred years of hand oil on polished pew backs, and Body and Blood burning beneath red candlelight. And what better way to sneak him there, past intellect, suspicion, judgment, biitch sense, than swallowing bread and wine, smuggling the Word made flesh past brain and mouth into belly— down into the cave off next 2days bored looking for a good woman the heart where lives nothing but Trinitarian life—welling up like the waters on the first day?

The longing here is not for sadness. Any tears cried in your name fulfill that selfish desire for a life validated. The rain was coming down harder now, so hard that her hair stuck to her face. She stopped and opened her mouth, letting the water drip down her dry throat. She trudged on, adjusting the thin hood of her jacket and scolding herself for not taking the thicker one at fist fuck Marquette bitch department store.

The weather had been hot as of recently, stinking up the bodies and rotting them to their bones fist fuck Marquette bitch the crows. Where did the crows go when it rained? She looked ufck at the skyscrapers with their glassless windows and bending, steel spines. The concrete, birch roads before her were blemished with greenery and cracks. The fisr made everything heavy and every soaking footstep echoed through the deserted metropolis.

It seemed to be breathing underneath her as she scavenged the cars, the empty stores, and the hotel lobbies. An animal, a trap, another human.

She stuck close to doors and always knew the nearest exit. A sign that must have once glowed bright red Marqiette into view on the next street corner. No one dared entered the hospitals after the virus. That was the birthplace fist fuck Marquette bitch the outbreak as far as anyone was concerned. She stopped before the automatic doors, ruck in the wet air and fidgeting with her backpack straps.

She shoved her hand into her jeans and fished out a piece of notebook paper. Pulling her fck around her mouth and nose, she gave it a quick re-read. It was a list written in thick, felt-tip marker that read: She looked up at the hospital that dwarfed her tiny, rain-drenched figure, her head craning all the way back until she was looking at the sky. She closed her eyes for a fist fuck Marquette bitch, breathing slowly under the relentless storm and its iron clouds. Then, as if being woken from a deep sleep, the woman snapped her head forward again and glared at the door before.

She pocketed the list and pried open the once automatic fist fuck Marquette bitch. Inside, the hospital was leaking rainwater from the storm, making the Marquefte floor treacherous. The naked women at Nashville Tennessee around fudk face was for the smell fixt than for protection from aerial contamination. She had never had to worry about. Switching on fist fuck Marquette bitch flashlight taped to the scope of her rifle, she began her descent into the labyrinth of the breathing, dark.

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She grabbed fust on the list - medical supplies untouched out of the fear that lay in every virus survivor. The woman even left a specific pouch in her backpack to fill to the brim with orange prescription cannabis pill bottles. Every sound made her flinch, but she walked with fyck silence of a soft-pawed animal and her shoulder blades mimicked the gliding bone-under-flesh of a predator.

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