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mutts and dogs and why finnegan newlands will never exist.

winging it with whitey

i’m sitting in sishu with chelsea on a beautiful, sunny saint patrick’s day.

i have to imagine that it’s due to chelsea’s eager, friendly demeanor, and her gorgeous girl next door looks that we’ve spent the afternoon collecting random ethiopian escorts as we walked the streets of addis taking care of some errands.

through travels and troublemaking i’ve perfected that look that elizabeth gilbert wanted so badly to affect while she was eating, praying, and loving, that look that says “what’s the big deal? i’m supposed to be here”. consequently, when i walk the streets of addis, i don’t get bothered all that much.

that’s alright. it’s good to mingle with the locals once in a while.

but it’s hot today, we’ve been walking all over the city, we’ve had a number of locals decide that we ought to be best friends (including one that we finally shook to the…

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MANON KUBLER. PERIODISTA , ESCRITORA EN RETIRADA. A LA SAGA DE UNA NUEVA CRONICA. PREPARO MIS BALAS. EXPULSO MIS FUEGOS. AFINO MIS LLAGAS. AVANZO. ME DEMORO. VUELVO A AVANZAR. BUSCO ESTOMAGOS QUE SUJETEN TOXICOS Y EXTREMOS. AQUI ESTOY, A LA SAGA, VIVIA Y SOBREVIVIDA PARA LA ALEGRIA DE POCOS, SALUD MANON

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