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The cold breeze of summer stops by my hair on an old martin bike, put away, no lights, no basket. The fire sirens sound, the sound finally soothing and the red leaf begins in the village. Like a sad love song, me and shakespeare were quieter during the journey from the church.<br>The rainy dances of the pleasures of the wheat fields and then leaves it on the ground of the big mud, the wet my feet and the joyful memories of the old days. At the end of the city in the smoke that flies in the smoke. It's a lovely view that makes me look beautiful, but sad.<br>Go home, before the gate, my brother and a strange man are having a hard time. With long hair across the shoulder, wearing thin quail and brown skin, I thought he was a copy of Jesus coming out of the last party Leonardo Da Vinci party. Me and Shakespeare are a little shocked because there are no men in my village for long hair.<br>Shakespeare begins to say, "In me thou see'st the twilight of such day," He- a religious fry seems to be thinking deep in the face of the man. He was surprised at what happened. It's strange, in our hearts, to rise up the fire of curiosity, arousing, then the brief introductions and the short conversation have tied us together.<br>Since then, we've been here to help you in charity work, church and chitchat, but I have no idea why he's been giving long hair. Why is everyone in the village calling you eight-22225-8225-year-1-1-1-1-1-year-foot-foot-foot-foot-foot-foot-foot-foot-foot-foot-foot-foot-1-1-1-1-1-1-1-1-foot-1-1-1- What was his past like? And why do you love God so much without being a priest?<br>
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