these few days were defintely a blur.
feeling now just like a patchwork skirt.
i doubt my parts are well connected..
my man is hell?
- babe, but we do not have meds here.
just let me patch you with a bag of ice.
maybe, your 40C will slow down somehow.
(nothing more sexier i seen in my life, like a
tattoo covered hand, patching you an IV pack.)
we are raised hard.
if a hand bleeds and can not be cured, cut it.
and i am all over any point of pain withstanding.
but yesterday i went somewhere to the middle
of Lethe and it was so lazy to go back here. oh.
- babe, i had the same decease and beat within a couple.
nah, people which mortal rating not so long ago was 80%?
just seemed to be stupid and did not know how to properly heal.
no matter how hellish it is, i will never trust my shreds of health
to someone else, than my partner, such a devilish doctor he is.
- cut the crap and let the one, who has a grade to deal with this shit!
aw. you know that song, desposito.
it is so perfect, i probably should make it my wedding theme.
Luis is just a copy of K. without the dangerous part.
...
i solemnly feel sorry for those people, who died from pneumonia in 1900s.
seems i am not in a mortal rate this time as well.
okay, then.