Et malgré, nous les choses se font de force ou de gré
Mauvais Oeil, ou la rage des immigrés Lorsque la police scientifique trace ces 7 lettres à la craie
Back to Denmark. They took my two Ikea pairs of scissors at the airport. Bastards. I wasn't that sad to leave the country-of-the-huge-strikes: bus to the airport because there were no RER. Hmpf, thank God, that’s behind me. I’ve been working four hours at the library; I met Mike and Ansgar in the main street of Roskilde. Yesterday I saw the two steeples of the Roskildedomkirken (cathedral). I smiled, I was at home. My girlfriend comes in a few days. I decided to work seriously for my studies. My Somali neighbour still phones his friends at 4 am and wakes up all the building, you still have to pay for the mayonnaise at the Mac Donald, down the streets the youths are still dressed as Nordic tecktonik dancers, and there’s a party tonight (I don’t remember which reason this time) : "welcome back, I need you right in front of me".
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