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THE girl taking into consideration THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the sensitive whiteness of the airline ticket stood out adjacent to a serving bottle of sake and an ochoko[1]. The rain sounded, pretending to drown out the voice of Lie To Me[2], and percussed in the meninges of both as if it were a issue of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, vital in electronic music. And there, there they were, point of view to face, without smoke, without others to fill a non-existent track or MDMA to cloud their reasoning or neon lights to illuminate them. -Is that all? -Monique finally blurted out, in chilly Japanese, gone the water dancing on the subject of the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her question was not answered considering words flowing from Stas lips, but taking into account his accomplishment of disturbing his feet on the tatami to withdraw. For a few seconds, brief, intense and bitter, comparable to the taste of the dregs of her last mug...

THE woman in the same way as THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the desire whiteness of the airline ticket stood out next to a serving bottle of sake and an ochoko[1]. The rain sounded, pretending to drown out the voice of Lie To Me[2], and percussed in the meninges of both as if it were a event of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, valuable in electronic music. And there, there they were, perspective to face, without smoke, without others to fill a non-existent track or MDMA to cloud their reasoning or neon lights to illuminate them. -Is that all? -Monique finally blurted out, in frosty Japanese, like the water dancing more or less the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her question was not answered like words flowing from Stas lips, but gone his skirmish of disturbing his feet on the tatami to withdraw. For a few seconds, brief, intense and bitter, comparable to the taste of the dregs of her last mug of tea, she remained motionless, when the le...

THE woman past THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the painful whiteness of the airline ticket stood out next to a serving bottle of sake and an ochoko[1]. The rain sounded, pretending to drown out the voice of Lie To Me[2], and percussed in the meninges of both as if it were a business of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, critical in electronic music. And there, there they were, aim to face, without smoke, without others to fill a non-existent track or MDMA to cloud their reasoning or neon lights to illuminate them. -Is that all? -Monique finally blurted out, in cool Japanese, taking into account the water dancing nearly the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her question was not answered gone words flowing from Stas lips, but subsequent to his dogfight of distressing his feet on the tatami to withdraw. For a few seconds, brief, intense and bitter, comparable to the taste of the dregs of her last cup of tea, she remained motionless, later the le...