He takes a piece of paper and a pencil, and tries to reply to his brother’s letter. I picked up the comb, I can’t come to Paris. He shreds the paper and takes a new one. The comb was in my pocket when I went into the bathroom, then it fell on the floor, and I picked it up, I picked up the comb from the floor, I’d forgotten, I definitely remember, that the comb fell far from the tepid urine, even though it was probably wet, I forgot I was coming to Paris...
New paper.
You can’t pick up what has fallen on the bathroom floor, there’s no need to work on a visa. He picked up a new piece of paper. Had the sound of the comb not been audible, the w***e sitting in the last stall would not have noticed…
New paper.
It was the lighter’s fault, a thousand times you said don’t smoke.
The pieces of
