Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. The sun shined weakly through brief pinpricks 90 in the thick cloud cover, the weather was brewing a storm. . An electric light flashed out from the wall. “I wonder if you will?” “Let me say one thing,” he said. Now he lay there, a doubled-up mass, with ugly distorted features, and a dark wet stain dripping slowly on to the carpet. A pity you did not think to tell me that part of the tale at the outset.
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This video was uploaded to extremesport8.info on 30-06-2024 04:11:21
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