80's Wrestling T Shirts

Username: Aloneinthedark

Nounours75. Password: *******. You have a new message.
His heart was pounding. 3 months he had registered on this dating site. A new site. One among many others. Like him. Single drowned amidst a sea of lost souls in search of another to share with. 3 months he had practically no message. No keys. Must be said that he had not hidden. The photo showed clearly that he was George Clooney not. A nice smile and a sincere look bare but her hair and curves that accompanied them were not to fall in love the girls on the other side of the screen. He cares. He wants to show himself as he is. Masks and pretenses, this is not his thing. Complex or not. It assumes.
Yet recent days, he chatted with a charming little lady. Aloneinthedark. A little younger than him. Blonde. Long hair. The photo showed her in her profile tank supported on a beachfront, sunglasses and fringe rebel. It emanated from her something angelic. It had rained all of on.
To her surprise, she responded to his first post he had taken great care to write. The first impression is often the most decisive. She had been sensitive to his humor and he gave the impression of being a boy like no other. Smart, simple, open and basically nice. They exchanged almost daily. Their joys, their expectations, their passions, their disappointments. It sprang up between them a gentle complicity as unexpected as it is delicious. They seemed to know even if it has always seemed more reserved, more mysterious than he. You never know what you fall. The virtual anonymity that Internet offers us opens the door to all evil bringing with them a whole bunch of girls and women reckless.
And if his heart was pounding more than usual when he received this new message is that this time it was to be the answer to his proposal to meet. In real life. A drink. And maybe more. He was apprehensive. It's a bit feverish he opened the message.

Dear Antoine (well I know your real name),
Excuse me for having taken so long to answer you but your proposal even predictable, was no less disturbing. I hesitated a long time. A little frightened at the thought of meeting you. Not that you make me afraid because you inspire confidence, but I dread the feeling that I would. The fear of disappointing you. Internet is one thing. "The Real Life" is another. But I still want this appointment. Even if only to hear the sound of your voice. Smelling your perfume.
So yes ... I'll be next Saturday in 20h place St Michel in Paris.
Yours
Sophie

He has had to read the message 20 times. Especially the last sentence. Especially the last word. He liked his first name. She said yes and appeared in the same stress as him. How could she imagine the disappointment? How would he dress? What would he say? Where he would take her? Oh yes, she loved him as Japanese cuisine. Good. And would it be up? And ... a billion questions flooded her head. Saturday was two days and it seemed to him so far ...
He was nervous. His shirt seemed to oppress. He had taken time to choose. His sweaty hand went back to see a round earlier .19 H58. It was quarter of an hour he was pacing in the crowd already compact on a Saturday summer evening. On the Place St Michel. Although it was mild, he was sweating. Impatience. Initial apprehension. His eyes stared at all the blondes who might resemble him. Would recognize it? It please Him? The prevailing noise seemed muffled. He had not had a tip-off since ... since ... He did not even know. A beautiful love story. One you pick as a teenager and leaves you on the edge of the road 10 years later. Alone. Looking for landmarks. Answers. After the desert is sentimental ... It drowns in his career. We neglect. We get lost. And when comes the thirties, one morning, looks in the mirror and it is scary. Very afraid ... We decided to take charge and as one is a timid, we choose the internet.
Emerging from his torpor, he sees a blonde hair in the crowd which crosses the avenue. The same sunglasses and vest the same as in the photo. She seemed to find their way through the onlookers. He went to meet her and saw her through the crowd. Radiant. A white cane before she helped him to move. He understood. He smiled and took her by the arm which did not resist. She knew it was him. Intuition never do wrong. She did it. He approached and said "you'll never be alone in the dark. "

Cooked Sausages Out Of Fridge

Toad Bonaparte and Lapine-Antoinette

Two illustrations made for decorating small rooms.

It was quite fun to do, and I'm pretty happy.

And if it's still a bit stuck for inspiration, rather
I look forward to the holidays arrive, then
and I hope I will be spirited to the blog!

(But the vacation is in long ......)

Meanwhile I will continue to bring you my illustrations,
story that the blog does not die of malnutrition o)

And who knows I may be something to tell you? "

Luv to all.

Heavy Implantation Means Twins

Within it

Have I already talked about it? I think not. You would remember. From her. So beautiful. If present in me. An extension of my being. My soul. A soul that inhabits it. In it, I feel like in the womb of a mother. A haven of peace where I feel out of touch. This silence. This love. I feel calm.
I saw her coming. She saw me leave. Return. Again. It is like a giant souvenir box in which it pleases me to fall and fall. A sharp fall where I meet the faces of my childhood, scenes of past happiness and some pain erased. With it I become the little boy I was. A little lonely and left. And gradually as I grew, it became smaller. She went through the years. Imperturbable as the oak stands in the middle of the forest and under which the children like to hide to talk about dragon and princess, a kiss during a recess, what they will do when they are older. She is the protector in a mother's unconditional love. It is the memory of those people who knew her. Closely. By far. Few hours. Few days. Few years. She
this divine gift to all of you feel excited. Whether it's the fragrances she radiates. Smells woody floral aromas. Female species. Manly scents. Sometimes. It has thousands of places from which spring from the emotions that you had buried deep within you. It makes you be born a laugh, a tear. Nostalgia and swirls you away. A memory leads to another, and quite a piece of your youth that opens, releasing the child who has never left.
One day I presented it to my daughter and they are loved immediately. From the first glance. She greeted me with as she had done. I look like my little aphid probably my father looked at me. Turn it around to make your head spin, climb a mountain top as inaccessible. I see her in turn open a huge box in which she puts away her memories. There. Right next to mine. Those of my brother, my sister and my parents. Memories with which she plays as if time had stopped.
After a street. Right. At the edge of a forest. You will find it. It. So beautiful. The house of my childhood.

Best Wood Stove Temperature

An illustration to pass the time.

And for the news, the operation a roof for Chile
is over, Tim has managed to raise € 420 in total,
he is happy and me too because I was 5, and drawings for sale
they were all! Thank
buyers, and those who relayed the info.