Der Whisky auf Ihrem Atem konnte einen kleinen Jungen schwindlig bilden; Aber ich hing an wie Tod: Solches waltzing war nicht einfach.
Wir romped, bis die Wannen vom Kcheregal schoben; Untersttzung mein Mutter knnte nicht unfrown selbst.
Die Hand, die mein Handgelenk hielt, wurde auf einem Knchel zerschlagen; An jedem Schritt, den Sie mein rechtes Ohr vermiten, rieb eine Wlbung.
Sie schlugen Zeit auf meinem Kopf mit einer Palme, die stark durch den Schmutz zusammengebacken wurde, dann weg waltzed mir zum Bett, das noch Ihrem Hemd anhaftet.
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