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Street Dogs Chapter 1'ENG'
It was late afternoon. In a long gutter of London a shadow moved. Amber-colored eyes glinted on the sidewalk, where a maple grew on a grassy spot. It was already pretty big and its branches reached over all the surrounding houses. They were currently decorated with colorful leaves but not many were left. Most of them already fell down and lie now in the gutter. A golden leaf fell down and landed directly in front of the dark-brown paw in the gutter. The paw rose and pushed on the leaf. “And another one. If this keeps up the time of snow will come soon.” The dark-brown figure walked now completely out of the shadows and turns out to be an old she-dog. Her tired and weakened eyes looked at the roof of the house of the opposite side.
“What’s so bad about that? I like snow. It’s about time to really have
Ever stand alloneHERE are my Feelings at the moment,when i see that other Peopels always Comment/get to another users....And never to me...
Thunderstorm is drawing at the moment a new Pic.She lies in a meadow,sunshine touch her body and the warm brezze of spring fly around her."lets see...Oh i know!I almost forget that!",Shes drawing her on a Sunrise."Almost finished just..."She looked up,seen Spy that she draw an new pic,it was her Refernece Sheet."Good job Spy!"She calls to her."Thanku!"Spy says and turn back,the Pic in her Mouth.
Thunderstorm want going on but then peopels running around her and starring at Spys pic."not again...."She sights.Always when one of you firends draw an new Pic,a lot of user comment then.
Fast finished Thunderstorm her Pic and stand up"here are mys!"But nobody turn around."ÄHM!!!!!!Here are mys!Hello?"She calls again.But nobody turns around."HELLO?!?!?!"She should.Fast the peopels are gone again."Whatthe....."Thunderstorm mouth stand open.Behind her Mina had finished
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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