Kresba tužkou L.T.
Oriental short stories. Lubomír Tomik a boxer with a broken face strained through his lips blood and growled - My fists are my bread! - the karateka looked into the distance in front of him and whispered - My zanshin is my bread! - the musician pricked up his ears and said - My notes is my bread! - I thought - My bread is a words, I bake my own, it is homemade and smells of thee, when the signal sounds, I add the spice of memories and -Píííííííííííííííííp- I'm adding him right now, You're amazing, You're an endless oriental story! Without end. Without end. XXXXXXXXXXX Karta Crowleyho Tarotu je... Devět Pohárů, ,,Radost." Až na kost!