dilluns, 17 de maig de 2010

shabop shalom


Our story begins on a sunday afternoon just between halfway tree and spanish town, where a young boy, not yet the cock o’ the walk that he would soon become, was lying on the grass and takin’ in the sweet and sensuous scent of hibiscus that languidly lilted along the summer breeze.
It was at this precise moment that he saw her, her walk was soft and delicate with a thaumaturgical touch, that only a rabbi’s daughter could have. Before their eyes had even met her luminous lips had already lured him in. Salvation winked, with he promise of a briss held at pinnacle and a congregation of sages bunny hopping and chicken dancing to yiddish mento.
Then, their eyes linked, an aeon blinked amharic vows were scryed upon their hearts, just to think this could all be with a frenectomy and a few words of love...

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