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June 25, 2008
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Well, to start with, I'll have to excuse(?) me for my bad language. And not bad as in, bad words. Bad as in I'm not from your fucking country, and doesn't speak or write it fluently.

I'm 22 years old now, like an old fox. It took me 22 years to discover that someone, in some time, killed my angel that supposed to be on my shoulder. You know, like in cartoons, you have the devil that gladly wants you to make the wrong choice. But the angel, sweet little angel, tells you all about the norms and all the right things to handle a certain situation. Well, where is my angel?

Maybe, the angel just went away to "buy the newspaper", and never came back. OR, the angel have been brutaly murdered. Because when the shit goes down, and I need my angel, I only have a laughing and shooting devil to lean on.

Years later, I've made some bad decisions.

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