The Curse of Fake my way to work in the morning to earn my daily bread, I met a guy on the travelators.
Oh and then not like I'm going to do it.
"Me going to work like every morning,
To reap the fruit of my efforts, criss
, voluntary, my merry way,
I met a nice guy on the travelators." Yes, no, it must be said travelator. No escalator. Because it's not the same thing, whatever. Travelator The treadmill is what is the escalator to the stairs, in fact, eh. Good. So my guy, then finally, the type, because then you will still interpret my words and you know what I mean, the guy was on his travelator, and travel Without Moving.
Heck yeah.
Like most people on travelators, type it was as frozen, more or less clinging to the guardrail, he waited until it goes quiet, but a bit stressed on arrival anyway. Yes, well, that's normal, there is always a bit stressed when on a trip, especially when at the end of the road before us a sort of mechanical grinder but a bit disingenuous, too, that awaits the lesser evil is yaw leg to snap you up and eat your children if you have any, I do not want obviously (to two interpretations that can have this sentence, I implied the other).
But hey, the guy, I would have asked him why he did not walk on travelator (noon ... but is not travelator that did not work, you are tiring ...), I would have answered "tsssseuuhh, why is it that I'm going to walk m'esquinter travelator while doing all the work for me, heuuu?!". What a cunt. While he was already sweating. And he also took what little haughty air of false-ass who does not dare admit that he is afraid. While good, it's not because it works by itself should not walk, shit, finally ... Just do a little jump at the elegant end to avoid the monster's gaping jaws of steel, and voila, it's not actually moving to delay the deadline that things will resolve them Similarly, but hey it a priori nobody understands. Pan, a startling revelation to most of the assets of this blog. They want to silence me, I tell you, but my fight for truth is impervious to intimidation.
And I have a gun.
Good, but the problem was not so much travelator, or even standing still on, that guy's outfit. Okay, it's a rule, it was said not the clothes, but allow me to differ.
The guy was there with his mug of Michael, and besides, it could very well have been called Claude. He had put salt and pepper in his beard, and also in what remained of his hair. Head, that way he air worthy Michel, "uncluttered behind the ears, please, because the heat coming, did you saw?" They said yesterday at the post, hinhin.. " In fact, I immediately noticed the main problem of Michael, his wife. No, she was not there, but judging by the paraphernalia of Glaude dress, I immediately understood that the base designing Mother Michel reserved to her husband, her rotten life with his taste for shit, and make it ridiculous in the eyes of the world to punish him for not giving his wife the life she dreamed of, because she wanted a domain where love is king and where she would be queen, Claude.
The guy was so muffled up in a salmon pink shirt from Scotland (10 € at the market), which dripped a tie too blue for Navy (Christmas gift). Everything was poorly packaged in a jacket mid-season swing between green and blue, but had apparently not yet chosen sides (recovered from the brother of Mrs. Claude). On the ground floor of this abomination survived jeans textile rapier I thought extinct since 1987 (40 € 5 in the declawed) that a sprawling two way surreal black loafers on the verge of nervous breakdown (25 € used).
There, bathed in the clammy morning, bending under the weight of his leather briefcase, a drop of sweat beading on his forehead, he was frightened by the curse travelator who took him, for sure, to a day of some shit, I Michel stared at him for 1.7 seconds. At this point, I read in the pure brown of her eyes all the distress of a man manipulated by a female succubus supporting the cause of Satan himself. Alongside this terrifying vision, the idea of a herd of black cats pouncing on me all claws would have seemed comforting. Forgiveness, Michel (Claude or I do not know). I heard your cry for help, but I fear the devil rendered mute.
Mr. President, I ask that sterilizes the woman quickly. Let's not wait another Claude (or Michael, I do not know) to put an end to these horrors.
I wish you good morning.
