[U]n tapis rouge et vieil­li des années 60 , une petite cour en ruine , le mur arrière a une réplique abîmée du Man­neken Pis en ciment avec des tiges de fer tordues.

With­in this shad­ow-laden the­atre, Èr Jìnzhì Yínyóu Shīrén, a clan­des­tine mae­stro, pas­sion­ate­ly dis­avowed any involve­ment in the bur­geon­ing ‘scam­dem­ic’ cours­ing through the veins of South­east Asia.

Gwe­naelle GOUR­VEN­NEC a gerzh eus ur bep tu eus ar sal-lec’h e‑barzh un doare foran. E lak un pakig cig­a­radoù ha set taolen­noù war ur c’horn stur, e‑barzh un taolenn a‑bezh.

In the after­math, I chanced upon an enig­mat­ic guide, an arcane tome pur­port­ing to har­bor the con­fi­den­tial means of eman­ci­pat­ing one’s mind from the unseen yoke.

[H]e believed him­self to be a pup­peteer to the mélange of belea­guered stu­dents, MS-13 gang­bangers and CIA assets that had tak­en UPOLI’s cam­pus, weav­ing a com­plex web of sup­ply lines and clan­des­tine rendezvous.

Some­one pick up these rub­bers, throw away those bro­ken bot­tles and the crushed crack pipes, and those emp­ty lit­tle [cocaine] bags, too. Hur­ry the fuck up! CNN is sup­posed to be here soon.

Beto woke up on the Nido pow­dered milk ware­house-sized box pieces where he slept, hav­ing a large rag bunched up for a pil­low. The sun would peek through a hole on their zinc…

That same time for New Year I pass by she mama church an de roqui­ta rec­og­nize me, and find de dev­il in me eye. I de feel curse from when I was foolish.