what I find those are ass fucking in provincial towns.
vulgar losers and pussies read pull every mood that crowd in the street all sequins, once a week and pretend to have fun.
in fact, many are the first week out and drink like pigs, walk and move away without bumping shoulders.
in the middle of the crowd recognize the queens that flared in pearls of wisdom like "do not do that thing, is in bad taste." The Wednesday.
have just fled.
me we were forced.
hate people who joins you and goodbye.
1 time per week.
waiting for that evening to be cool.
that ethnic, chic, hippie or Rasta sfighetto.
there is a reason for this association, without art, without dialogue.
the festival country has a plus.
celebrate something.
a tradition, a food, a custom.
understand it more.
fucking merceneri of that province as sporcellano Obtuse.
you burn them all.
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