Albert Poché, dressed in culottes and knee-high’s stood admiring the fat red-faced woman and child’s reflection in the grocer’s window. Krieger awoke from unsettling dreams, his under-drawers dampened round his cock and anus hole. Krieger, known for his well-balanced mien, first met Albert Poché the day of the Feast of the Unrepentant, both men making their commode behind the same bush at the back of the church.
‘Puede Dios Bendecir su Alma Agujero’, said the sign over the door to the Grim Brothers Haberdashery. Awaking from unsettling dreams, his under-drawers dampened round his anus hole and cock, Krieger opened his eyes onto the world. That night he made the beast with the harridan’s sister, the cups of her knees digging into the birdcage of his ribs, the moon outside her bedroom window a winnowing yellow whore. ‘seu burro gordo mim diverte!’ he whispered into her ear, ‘empuje empuje meu amante gordo do burro!’ That evening Tingvoll and Bohinj Romsdal ate their supper at La Pancrazio Gaststätte, Puglia Kassel and Hessen Bassano sitting across the isle awaiting the arrival of the first course: poached black eel in an almandine sauce and fatty oxtail soup. Grappa del Veneto, appearing as if from nowhere, took a seat next to Tingvoll, the buttons on his suit grappling with the stoutness of his belly. ‘in the end’ he said stoutly, ‘nothing matters’. Fitfully he crossed the isle and sat next to the harridan’s sister. Ordering a palliative he said to the waitress ‘empuje empuje meu amante gordo do burro!’
Later that evening the man in the hat fell ill as a dog. Even though he had no evidence how dogs felt he fell as ill as one. Having eaten an entire cottage ham and a pot of sweet yams he felt a gurgling in his stomach. He felt like a dog felt when its stomach was full of biscuits even though he had not eaten any. Or he may have but not remembered that he had. Had he he would have some knowledge that he had surely.
‘Puede Dios Bendecir su Alma Agujero’, said the sign over the door to the Grim Brothers Haberdashery. Awaking from unsettling dreams, his under-drawers dampened round his anus hole and cock, Krieger opened his eyes onto the world. That night he made the beast with the harridan’s sister, the cups of her knees digging into the birdcage of his ribs, the moon outside her bedroom window a winnowing yellow whore. ‘seu burro gordo mim diverte!’ he whispered into her ear, ‘empuje empuje meu amante gordo do burro!’ That evening Tingvoll and Bohinj Romsdal ate their supper at La Pancrazio Gaststätte, Puglia Kassel and Hessen Bassano sitting across the isle awaiting the arrival of the first course: poached black eel in an almandine sauce and fatty oxtail soup. Grappa del Veneto, appearing as if from nowhere, took a seat next to Tingvoll, the buttons on his suit grappling with the stoutness of his belly. ‘in the end’ he said stoutly, ‘nothing matters’. Fitfully he crossed the isle and sat next to the harridan’s sister. Ordering a palliative he said to the waitress ‘empuje empuje meu amante gordo do burro!’
Later that evening the man in the hat fell ill as a dog. Even though he had no evidence how dogs felt he fell as ill as one. Having eaten an entire cottage ham and a pot of sweet yams he felt a gurgling in his stomach. He felt like a dog felt when its stomach was full of biscuits even though he had not eaten any. Or he may have but not remembered that he had. Had he he would have some knowledge that he had surely.
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