Somedays, a busy life just slows down at the foot of the iron of the world.
Sometimes, we just want to enter a park and open every stomach with a sword.
One day, I ate an orange, a juicy orange orange by la Tour Eiffel, the gigantic dildo everybody sits on in this world.
Once upon a time, a yellow bike called Maximus was fighting against the wind to earn some european coins.
Brazilian mothers and Russian whores were curious to see Maximus moan.
The story ends at 5.30pm when Maximus comes back home and goes to Church to please Notre-Dame.
A prayer made by a soldier doesn't need translation to know that a wheapon is obviously une arme.
Maximus is at the sunny part of Paris and his boredom is so immense that he can take this whole fucking city in his arms.
Ps: Ce poème est dédiée à la plus belles des salopes du monde, je nomme La Donna Parigi.