Checking my stats, someone translated one of my England posts to “Chinese” (according to Google, no mention which dialect). I like this style of writing better, actually:
It is Sunday morning. Nagel’s give me a croissant, so we can read newspapers.
Nagel years older than I. 12. He is in a relationship with Peter near 8 years. Peter’s every Sunday into the office and then towards the club, ignoring Nagel trouble. I was “trouble.”
I met Nagel, when standing in a bar cloning region, away from the Earls Court subway station at the time step. He is a drunken white skin and blond and handsome royal. He also has an ear adhesion 90 degrees from his head. It is lovely. I simply wrote about our relationship here before.
Open the door of the house. Peter’s unexpected return. “Is a sedative,” Nagel said of paper from his search. Peter went into the kitchen and the investigation two of us. I will work together to introduce their own, but Peter clapped his hands and said “right!” Bit too loudly. Moment of him, and we could hear him in the bedroom near the search. Ringing the front door.
And we continue to have huge, naughty, and Nagel and I.
Remember how Swing dance came back a few years back and everyone wanted to twirl a poodle skirted girl over their face/head/hips? A friend turned me on to this little “art-show-endurance-event” thing going on at the 
