Plates of the old laurel, gold shavings on the shaggy yellow {} Ha Long Song. This endless Hong pregnant, hit hit by the west. Youren queue for the extension, the ancient Italian AIDS infinity. Sun-strokes do not come, the western suburbs of grass Mengrong. Far left trying to use those, said resistance from hard sigh. □ □ bear for and takes the mail room cage. Dreams like the rain suddenly the clear, night super-Hong Meng afternoon. Gas constant fear of break-fang, I hate when the end.