Mes vingt trois ans n'ont pas grand intérêt. Rien de transcendant à l'horizon. Je quittais Brad Pitt, qui n'avait de Brad, que la tête. C'est déjà pas si mal. Sinon, il squatting my flat for a year already. It had invaded my home with his pretty face, his guitar, his acoustic guitar, folk guitar (signed "I do not remember who). There was also his bass, the drums, his harmonica and he was dragging his carcass from here to there in MY thirty square meters. When I came home from the hospital, there were often one or two guys at him sprawled here and there in an atmosphere of Nirvana. Cooool! I just had to swoop me or not. It was not. What was I doing there? Or rather, what is he doing there, I emptied the fridge without scruple, to believe in them without ask me my opinion, to me play mandolin. And yes, it's because the mandolin! I always had a weakness for the souls of artists (poor and without a collar is preferred).
short, I left Brad, a beautiful gray and very cold morning in January. A little surprised, he asked where he would go. His pitiful with all his gear on the instrumental level, has almost made me crack. Your mother! I brought you as it rains, you do not have a car that your friends have no car, having a car accessory is ... And also incidentally, a job and an apartment.
I backcrossing a month later. I had not. I cracked. Oh, just a night that's all. A month and a half later, I found that my periods were a bit slow to come. I had not counted. Her mother accompanied me to the clinic before the cavalier attitude of his son, the learner, fled nowhere. I loved his mother. A kind Fanny Ardant, married to a wealthy industrialist. No worries Brad.
So I continued my twenty third year, chugging along, looking for love. Raoul? No, he chose Claire. I did a little test with Jean Louis. Sos! He wanted to lock me in its huts. Fortunately, a pretty young woman arrived. Tan Dam! But then, I have already twenty four years!
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