Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. “What nonsense is this? What raving! My dear child, you DO live, you DO exist! You have this home. ” “My Mom complains that she’s tired all the time.
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This video was uploaded to newyorkairportlimo.mobi on 30-06-2024 14:19:21
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