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Down to fuck in brighton

Get a out job. Fuck the addresses who put your hands down some each child's data. Yet everyone sat exceptional in my darkened vehicles, most dimly lit by our own orangey cigarette glow. Ron, I have no support, very further!.

As well as possibly mimicking some official dogging Doen signal in the darkness for all to see, it also gave me the opportunity to feign malfunction, get a light ib the woman next door and ideally ask what the form here was. So I got out, the first of any of us present to do so, and tapped on her window. And for some totally bizarre reason, brighto all froze, stared forwards and bighton me. Down to fuck in brighton pointed at the unlit cig between my fingers, but to no fo or response whatsoever. They just stared ahead. So I went back to my own warm interior, my lighter now miraculously mended. Most of us had been there a good 45 minutes by now and no one was there for the verdant scenery that lay hidden behind the night.

Yet still they all sat, smoking silently in the darkness. So if there was any suggestion of a power play here, it surely lay with her — around a dozen car windows she could tap on and grant the silent occupant an al fresco frisking. And then a strange thing happened. No obvious signal for spectators was made, indeed still no one moved from their own cars. So I sat rather awkwardly, thankful for the eye contact avoidance the hilltop gloom provided, while this sexual act took place without significant enthusiasm from fellator, fellatee or in-car audience.

It reached an apparent conclusion and the light went out again. Gradually, cars began to start up and move on with the assumption that the show, such as it was, was over.

As Down to fuck in brighton the other spectators — no doubt mentally cursing my sexy view — I doubt they got their rocks off either. To spend such a long time with the speculative hope of witnessing sex just seems an indication of crushing loneliness and social ineptitude. This might have been a particularly unsuccessful example, but dogging looks like a wretched hobby. You betray our trust! Fuck the priests who put their hands down some innocent child's pants. Fuck the church that protects them, delivering us into evil. And while you're at it, fuck JC! He got off easy! A day on the cross, a weekend in hell, and all the hallelujahs of the legioned angels for eternity!

Try seven years in fuckin' Otisville, J! On the names of innocent thousands murdered, I pray you spend the rest of eternity with your 72 whores roasting in a jet-fuel fire in hell. You towel headed camel jockeys can kiss my royal Irish ass! Fuck Francis Xavier Slaughtery, my best friend, judging me while he stares at my girlfriend's ass. I gave her my trust, and she stabbed me in the back. Sold me up the river. Fuck my father with his endless grief, standing behind that bar sipping on club sodas, selling whisky to firemen, cheering the Bronx Bombers.

Fuck this whole city and everyone in it. From the row-houses of Astoria to the penthouses on Park Avenuefrom the projects in the Bronx to the lofts in SoHo. Let an earthquake crumble it, let the fires rage, let it burn to fucking ash and then let the waters rise and submerge this whole rat-infested place. No, fuck you, Montgomery Brogan. You had it all, and you threw it away, you dumb fuck!

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James Brogan[ edit ] brighgon Monty] You've never been west of Philly, have ya? This is a beautiful country Monty, it's beautiful out there, like a different world. Mountains, hills, cows, farms, and white churches. I drove out west with Down to fuck in brighton mother one time, before you was born. Brooklyn to ro Pacific in three days. Just enough money for gas, sandwiches, and coffee, but we made it. Every man, woman, and child alive should see the desert one time before they die. Nothin' at all for miles around. Nothin' ruck sand and rocks and cactus and blue sky.

Not a soul in sight. No madmen cursin' or pissin' in the streets. You find the silence out there, fucck find the peace. You can find God. So we drive west, keep driving till we find a nice little town. These towns out in the desert, you know why they got there? People wanted to get way from somewhere else. The desert's for startin' over. Find a bar bribhton I'll buy us drinks. I haven't had a drink in two years, but I'll have one with you, one last whisky with my boy. Take our time with it, taste the barley, let it linger.

And then I'll go. I'll tell you don't ever write me, don't ever visit, I'll tell you I believe in God's kingdom and I'll see you and your mother again, but not in this lifetime. You'll get a job somewhere, a job that pays cash, a boss who doesn't ask questions, and you make a new life and you never come back. You're a New Yorker, that won't ever change. You got New York in your bones. Spend the rest of your life out west but you're still a New Yorker. You'll miss your friends, you'll miss your dog, but you're strong. You got your mother's backbone in you, you're strong like she was. You find the right people, and you get yourself papers, a drivers license.

You forget your old life, you can't come back, you can't call, you can't write. You never look back. You make a new life for yourself and you live it, you hear me? You live your live the way it should have been. But maybe, this is dangerous, but maybe after a few years you send word to Naturelle. You get yourself a new family and you raise them right, you hear me? Give them a good life Monty. Give them what they need. You have a son, maybe you name him James, it's a good strong name, and maybe one day years from now years after I'm dead and gone reunited with your dear ma, you gather your whole family around and tell them the truth, who you are, where you come from, you tell them the whole story.

Then you ask them if they know how lucky they are to be there. It all came so close to never happening. This life came so close to never happening. Uncle Nikolai[ edit ] This is my advice to you: When you get there, figure it out who's who. Find the man nobody's protecting. A man without friends.


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