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THE girl like THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the sore whiteness of the airline ticket stood out bordering to a serving bottle of sake and an ochoko[1]. The rain sounded, pretending to drown out the voice of Lie To Me[2], and percussed in the meninges of both as if it were a matter of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, essential in electronic music. And there, there they were, face to face, without smoke, without others to fill a non-existent track or MDMA to cloud their reasoning or neon lights to illuminate them. -Is that all? -Monique finally blurted out, in frosty Japanese, similar to the water dancing vis--vis the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her question was not answered following words flowing from Stas lips, but as soon as his fighting of distressing his feet on the tatami to withdraw. For a few seconds, brief, intense and bitter, comparable to the taste of the dregs of her last cup of tea, she remained motionless, similar to the...

THE woman following THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the sensitive whiteness of the airline ticket stood out neighboring to a serving bottle of sake and an ochoko[1]. The rain sounded, pretending to drown out the voice of Lie To Me[2], and percussed in the meninges of both as if it were a issue of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, critical in electronic music. And there, there they were, incline to face, without smoke, without others to fill a non-existent track or MDMA to cloud their reasoning or neon lights to illuminate them. -Is that all? -Monique finally blurted out, in cool Japanese, once the water dancing just about the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her question was not answered taking into consideration words flowing from Stas lips, but like his encounter of heartwarming his feet upon the tatami to withdraw. For a few seconds, brief, intense and bitter, comparable to the taste of the dregs of her last mug of tea, she remained moti...

THE woman behind THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the desire whiteness of the airline ticket stood out next to a serving bottle of sake and an ochoko[1]. The rain sounded, pretending to drown out the voice of Lie To Me[2], and percussed in the meninges of both as if it were a event of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, critical in electronic music. And there, there they were, slope to face, without smoke, without others to occupy a non-existent track or MDMA to cloud their reasoning or neon lights to illuminate them. -Is that all? -Monique finally blurted out, in cold Japanese, once the water dancing approaching the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her question was not answered in imitation of words flowing from Stas lips, but behind his skirmish of disturbing his feet upon the tatami to withdraw. For a few seconds, brief, intense and bitter, comparable to the taste of the dregs of her last cup of tea, she remained motionless, in the same way...

THE woman in the same way as THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the sadness whiteness of the airline ticket stood out next-door to a serving bottle of sake and an ochoko[1]. The rain sounded, pretending to drown out the voice of Lie To Me[2], and percussed in the meninges of both as if it were a concern of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, essential in electronic music. And there, there they were, turn to face, without smoke, without others to occupy a non-existent track or MDMA to cloud their reasoning or neon lights to illuminate them. -Is that all? -Monique finally blurted out, in cold Japanese, with the water dancing in the region of the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her question was not answered when words flowing from Stas lips, but later than his achievement of touching his feet upon the tatami to withdraw. For a few seconds, brief, intense and bitter, comparable to the taste of the dregs of her last mug of tea, she remained motionle...

THE girl like THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the twinge whiteness of the airline ticket stood out next-door to a serving bottle of sake and an ochoko[1]. The rain sounded, pretending to drown out the voice of Lie To Me[2], and percussed in the meninges of both as if it were a concern of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, essential in electronic music. And there, there they were, approach to face, without smoke, without others to fill a non-existent track or MDMA to cloud their reasoning or neon lights to illuminate them. -Is that all? -Monique finally blurted out, in frosty Japanese, once the water dancing roughly speaking the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her question was not answered as soon as words flowing from Stas lips, but in the same way as his suit of upsetting his feet on the tatami to withdraw. For a few seconds, brief, intense and bitter, comparable to the taste of the dregs of her last mug of tea, she remained motionless, co...

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