asbestos Each and every one of those shiny little teeth connect. How do they do it? Each knows its place, and goes there obediently, clasping its brothers tightly. They can't meet without the tab, though. Try it right now. Push those teeth together. They don't listen to you, do they? They take order from no one but the boss. The tag moves and - ah! - they connect, so purely! So chastely. They know their place. They go there obediently. They are so beautiful. And yes, all this just so your pants don't fall down. 031017
sweetheart of the song tra bong She just yanked up on the emergency brake, dropped her seat back and told me to lie on top of her.
On top of those leather pants of hers. Her hands immediately guiding mine over those soft, slightly oily folds.
Positioning my fingers on the shiny metal tabs. Small and round like a tear.
Then murmmering a murmmer so inaudible that even though I could feel her lips tremble against my ear, she seemed far, far away.
"Pinch it," she said, which I did lightly.
Until she also said, "pull it," which I also did.
Gently parting the teeth one at a time down, under and beneath the longest unzipping of my life.

Mark Z. Danielewski Actually, I wrote that.
I was reciting a passage from my book "House_of_Leaves" for that remix.

She's my sis, you know.
sweetheart of the song tra bong Quite right. Carry on. 031019
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