It was weird, the way the rest of the world could see something that you yourself couldn't.

Like, I look in the mirror and there's - yeah, there's a girl there. And...yes, those eyes are dark, and that hair is...kinda curly, if it's behaving, and that skin is pale, freckled -

And I'm seeing the things I need to do to get to beautiful. Pluck that, moisturise that, define that, conceal that (some mornings, conceal all of it, please)

The amount of times I look at myself and I think that I need to be fixed. That I need to...

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The chocolate scoop was all she wanted. However, the lanky boy behind the counter of Baskin Robbin's wanted to give his number away as well. In any other sinaro Jenny would have jumped at this opportunity, but the boy with the greasy hair, fuzzy eyebrows and a horrible wink did not please her. The boy still stood with her cone in his hand. Now he was getting irratating.
"Hum, thank you," Jenny tried reaching for the cone as a huge hint. He didn't take it.
"Do you have any plans for Friday night?" Oh boy. He was so clumsy with...

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It started like any sunday morning, with coffee brewing and the literal show Sunday Morning on cbs when we decided to walk our 140-pound saint Brenard, and our smaller dog Casey down by the lake. We had Casey on the leash when Bella, our Saint Brenard, crashed through the brush and tumbled upon a deer that had bedded down. Casey fought her way off the leash and by the time we had found them the deer had gone into the water rather than to face bella. Our two excited dogs of course rushed right in after it
The Waves were...

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They danced in a circle by the shores off the lake, laughing as they held each other. Their shifts, made of white samite, fluttered around their knees as their feet squelched into the wet ground below them. It was the morning of the vernal equinox, a time of regrowth and enchantment.

The three danced thrice clockwise, then thrice more counter-clockwise before returning to the former for three more rotations. Nine was a magic number to them, the number of years they'd been friends. They smiled at each other, white teeth gleaming as their eyes sparkled.

And then, the waters roiled....

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The dock at his grandfather's pond always reminded him of Imladris, the land known as Rivendell in Tolkien's The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. It was a beautiful place, almost magical in its pristine loveliness. He used to play here every summer, fishing off the edge, diving into the water, and climbing the nearby trees in his search for the One Ring and the forces of Sauron, who were constantly hunting him and the Ring of Power.

He journeyed beside Aragorn, fought with Gimli and Legolas, sang songs with Thorin Oakenshield and his merry band of Dwarves.

Work...

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Travel light, but take everything with you. Everything that you might need. The bare essentials. Nothing that might be termed as excess. Nothing that might weigh you down, nothing that might, at the other end, end up in a cupboard or a loft, forever after forgotten and stored away.

That's the problem with belongings. You accumulate so many unnecessary things over the years, things that once meant something to you, perhaps even a lot, but that, over an indeterminate period of time, lost that once owned meaning and became, instead worthless, meaningless. The Valentine's Day card from an old lover,...

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Taste is a matter of where and where you grew up. I am lucky enough to be born in a Country where taste can be seen and savored on a daily base and almost everywhere. Italy is made of taste; great taste, not only concerning the food, but it applies also to cars, shoes, clothing, manners and beautiful ladies. We all know what a man should do to make a lady feel great, isn't that considered taste? When we eat at home or at the fanciest restaurant on the coast do we know what wine is to be matched with...

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Aangekomen op het kruispunt keek ik naar rechts.
En naar links.
Links lag mijn bestemming.
Een dag vol kennis en testen.
De weg naar een opleiding,
en een goede baan.
Onderweg naar mijn toekomst.
Het stoplicht springt op groen.
Iik de vrijheid tegemoet.

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Sam, having slung hot dogs into buns on the street corner for the majority of his 35 years, had seen a lot. A lot of anger, a lot of hurt, a lot of disgust. He though he had seen it all until today. He served up the Ball Park Frank with sauerkraut as he usually did, hot off the grill and dripping with grease, and the blue collar recipient took it in hand, as they usually do, and generously dressed it with the brown spicy mustard that was the typical street corner fare. They never had time for much else--eating...

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Dancing dreams over streams of lightning. My brain is fried rice; your hands delightening. Totally cavernous, and almost incestuous; your wrists are bound by mustard eloquence. Queens beans scenes on stages; pages without wages, and slaves in conclaves. Your anus my innards, your penis, my skin hurts just thinking about your gym shoes on my lips; your sweaty cunt on my knee. You picked me up by my underwear and hung my on some trees. I spit on your lungs, my farts on your tongues. Some senses smell and some fences swell. Your ass hurts? My toes squirt. This is...

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