webcam new york city times square Previously, her crotch smelled fried onions and I could not stand him, now it smells of aramat and I can not tear myself away !!!!!! I guess I love her: but I can not, I can not, I can not: here.
PROLOG This is one of those many stories that are born on the Internet in various chat rooms, instant messengers and other things called foreign words.
Working day.
Two colleagues (IT and IT) from two branches of the same organization located in different cities and even countries.

They met 2 months before this conversation at some big event of their organization.
We saw 5 days, of which only one last evening communicated.
It seemed that romance was not.
Looking ahead, we can say that only later, much later, they both admitted that they were drawn to each other, like a magnet.
And then it was just one party, at which he never took his eyes off her, and after that there was a 20-minute smoke break on the balcony.
Then everyone returned to his home.
Exchanged numbers “ICQ”.

On the second or third day of cyber-communication, this was born (only the names of cities are changed; the rest of the text is given “as is”, without any changes or changes): HE (sets the topic): THEME: Background: as it turned out recently, I will not come to your city, t.
to.
I will have no business there.
Bummer with.
Theme itself: (very immodest of me.
I would even say arrogant and self-assured, but still interesting to me).
What would happen if I still came? on February 23.
SHE: February 23, 2002, Saturday.
You ask to meet you at the airport! I arrive (as always at the last minute) when you sit in a taxi.
After the wagon apology, we go to the city.
But since the weather in our city is unpredictable, and I meet you early in the morning, visibility-zero on the main highway, t.
to.
the whole suburb is wrapped up in a dense shawl of a gray mist with the first notes-hints about the onset of spring! Our driver turned out to be not local, and we confuse the direction on the bridge, and drive, unaware of anything, in the other direction.

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After 15 minutes of lively conversation, we begin to look around and torture our driver about the route.
With a fright in his voice, in turn, he asks us where we are? The car stops and I start shouting: “Where have you delivered us ?! We are on the detour!” Fog creeps along the ground, at arm’s length you can see nothing.
And the car will not start anymore.
After the bitten vodka that you brought to the meeting with friends, and after you smoked a cigarette, you start to think about how we can get to the city, because you have a business meeting.
And here I remember that on the highway somewhere after 2 kilometers there is an excellent roadside cafe.
You start to push the car with the driver, and you put me behind the wheel.
After half an hour of dirty and tired, we get to the goal.
All three of them, including the driver, are a bit tipsy (we drank your vodka on the way), we go to a cafe, order lunch and some more alcohol for “warm weather” – the fog blew us to the bone.

HE: Meanwhile, time inexorably went forward.
3 p.m.
In the eatery said that to your city another 7 km.
We notice that our taxi driver has evaporated somewhere.
And along with the “broken” car.
I stand on the track.
I catch a ride.
I try not to submit the view that I’m cold.
I try to swear in a low voice so that you do not hear.
Why swear? And why are these meaningless gestures with their hands, like catching a ride? They are still not here.
Moreover, with my criminal appearance a la Mount Ararat, no one will stop me.
Yes, and not necessary.
Secretly, trying not to notice, looking at you.
SHE: While you are catching a ride, I try to come up with a cultural program in our city, because you didn’t say how many days you came, but for some reason I’m afraid to ask.
Especially today is a holiday, so be it according to the “sovky” calendar.
And I do not know if you prefer more – noisy or quiet places, or maybe a concert, or maybe mountains.
Yeah, not a decent idea goes to a drunken head.

Time goes by and you don’t even pretend to catch a car.
Spitting on everything, and acting on the principle: if you cannot change anything, then accept everything as it is, I call you back to the cafe, I ask you to turn up the music, and bring a bottle of wine.
I will arrange the cultural program myself! HE: Surprisingly, they brought us a very good semi-dry wine.
And the other inhabitants of the cafe disappeared somewhere (there is still no transport on the highway and there has never been a cafe near it.
How did they leave?).
And what a smart waiter they have!
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