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When I was in America for two years, I spoke English with a clean, pure American accent. And forgot my native tongue. I opened my mouth to speak Hebrew and got tongue-tied. When I was in America for five years, I remembered my Hebrew. And stopped speaking English with such an American accent. When I was in America for nine years, I went to Mexico city. And it reminded me of Tel Aviv. The trees reminded me of Tel Aviv and the buildings reminded me of Russia. I’ve never been to Russia, but Veronika said that I was right. When I was in America for twelve years, I learned Russian. I learned how people my age spoke Russian when they wanted to say shit and fuck and not when they wanted to ask for soup.

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I'd like to find a middle ground
Where the footing's sound
Said H. Gelem as he looked around
But no one answered, as usual.

I'd like to be finally found, he said,
But instead
There was a loaf of stale bread
An unmade bed
A kettle of lead
And other weighty matters

Well, what's the matter
He asked, can i not be seen
Am i too obscene
Is my French not pardoned?

But the bed just lay
The lead just weighed
And the bread just hardened...

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1. When you are hissed at undeservedly, maintain your dignity. Walk away with no reaction.
2. When faced with something scary or unfamiliar, stay cool. And dont' budge. Unless it concerns you directly. (It usually does not)
3. When your world crumbles, take strength from and be tender to the people who love you who are by your side. You will inspire them and ease both your roads.
4. Do kind things just because. Like grooming your asshole brother Murry.
5. If you're not treated with love, walk away. And stay away.
6. Practice good personal hygiene.
7. Stay playful.
8. Drink water.
9. Have a safe place to call your own.
10. We'll always have Paris.
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i love new york and
the manhole covers in the pavement
the still perfection of the LES before dawn
the doggies i feel sorry for
because of their lack of country
urban doggies brave souls
Springsteen still dancing in the dark
on the radio
fat girls with bunny tails
Halloween pubescent girls
their thighs shuffling quickly along
the sidewalk
teeming with perpetual festivity
the dirty sidewalk always full
of life

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I love stumbling upon weddings in far away places.
Traveling to a Latin American country
Visiting some church with a wedding already in progress
Or finding a park with the wedding party
All bad shoes and polyester,
Disorderly shuffling, smiles
There's such joy in it
And you
Totally unnecessary, but there
Like time travel

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i don't want to be difficult
or one of those goody-two-shoes
(too late to fit into those)
i don't want to be a puritan killjoy
i've killed my share of braincells smoking crack
(or whatever it was i was putting up my nose)
and i sure as hell ain't preaching
(cause what do i know, i got no plan)
but it just isn't funny to me anymore
the meth-lab vicodin humor
(coming from a grown man)
unless you're House or Holmes or May
there must be better ways
for you to pass the time
but then who am i to talk
when i just sit around
and rhyme
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"Blin, da. Che-to tak trahatsia hochetsia...Che Vika govorit, chto tam v retrograde, a?"
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it's funny how i loved him
more than anyone
but left him so completely
when he left
there were no strings, no sticky stuff that binds
(he said "goodbye")
you to your lover
or that makes it hard to part
things fall apart
sometimes so simply
and you stay
the same
and not the same
but strangely
still okay
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we should be called the yoga generation

don't you think?

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me: and i remembered
how when we were 17
Karina and I
cut off our early teenage jeans
which had become a bit too tight
and made daisy dukes out of them
and it looked...downright pornographic/pedophilic
and we went out to the streets of SF to strut our "stuff"
d: oh boy
me: and i lived
in this totally sleepy, expensive, family neighborhood
and not a SINGLE
so much as glanced at us.
it was the most depressing day of my teenage life.


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west coast, 20 years ago:

and exactly 20 years later, east coast:

...The fundamental things apply...as..time...goes...by.

ok. enuf nostalgia!


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GP is giving up drugs
and moving on to loftier pursuits.
GP knows.
GP can make things quick
and painless.
Because she knows how.

And I was going to tell you
whoever YOOOOU happen to be
that love
but a sense of peace
when the room feels big enough
and your mind isn't cluttered
by the other person's presence

everything else

is unworkable.

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there's a complacency in married life
in the khaki mom-shorts
in the listless walk
without urgency

that protective walk
the mother-father hens
with their fat behinds
even if they aren't
they move so

i'm not against it
the family circle
i guess
i just hate khaki shorts

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pero seguimos adelante, verdad?
meme s'il est impossible de savoir exactement ce qu'on fait.
beuuuf. la philosophie. j'adore. pas vraiment.

put on margiela, top to toe, accessorized with a two-dollar sash belt. who cares right.
about margiela. or the fact that the shoes rub on the ankles. or that the song stuck in my head all day is from 1938.

anyhow. the people who made the Sept Issue did a fantastic job. doing what a documentary should. stripping bare that which is hidden, demystifying the mystique, and most importantly, somehow, making it about characters, about being human. and about what makes each of us, who she is.
(never thought i'd abandon my faithful use of the neutral-masculine. perhaps it's age. yes. i'm sure it is....)

and so. grace [coddington] is convinced she belongs in another era. but that isn't so, i blieve. each of us has his or her own place right here, right now. and it's the same place we would have occupied in another era. and in another. and another.

thought about what innochka said about people we tend not to notice when i looked at the ticket boy at the theater. all coke-bottle glasses and dark greasy hair. so far away inside his polyester wine-colored uniform. the pair of well-scrubbed girls in front of me gave him a look. like wtf. i thought about innochka. and what she said. and about him. and thanked him for taking my ticket without wanting to appear over-solicitous. and just as i began to walk away already forgetting all about him he said "i like your outfit". the margiela. he liked it. polyester d&d boy. i totally thanked him. i did.

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8:32 PM
me: not the first clue as to what to do.
with myself.
not the first clue.

12:02 AM
me: i tried so much.
i put on a red dress.
and yellow heels.
and my hair was great, curly, fuzzy, pulled back, nice.
people were wowing up and down the street.
i was going to hear music on the bowery.
something i'd read in time out ny
julia called and i had to pick up my weed wallet from her anyway
i stopped by and while i was going up the stairs, a friend calls - i gotta introduce you to this guy so i say only if he's got broad shoulders and a hairy chest. so he says
i hear he's got a big dick too and he's SO good looking(whoopty fucking do, he can keep his dick to himself for the time being)come meet us on bleecker and mcdougal.
i'm already wearing my red dress, semi-transparent and retro red dress.
barely there red dress.
yet coyly demure
red dress...
so i go. i come.
check out the guy. 3 minutes. guy sucks.
he's got NO shoulders.
i leave.
i go to the bowery for that random music.
they are all children.
music is merely adequate.
i have 1/3 of a beer on tap and bail.
i sms everyone in my address book who might wish to go out. (about 3 people)
i stop by the bar on 1st and 1st where nik knows the bartender. where they show football (ah, football...) on the tv
i order a beer.
all around me.
american, lame, boring, plain vanilla, kids.
they make a lot of noise. it's good.
drowns out the...stuff.
i order chicken tenders (real schintzel! the place has the best one i've ever had, i remembered)
i eat it all. with my beer (i leave a bit of that).
it's delicious.
not a single person talks to me.
not that i wanted anyone there to talk to me
they were lame as hell. those kids.
but i missed the football. oh i missed the football so much that i was watching it.
i missed sharing the chicken tenders.
i missed leaning my head against him.
and i realized
it can't be cured.
not even with a red dress.
the sexiest red dress in the universe.
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так хорошо дома утром
маленькие лампочки
тихо поет Сезария
дождик за окном
свежо-постиранное белье
котики на убраном диване под окошком
звук проезжающих машин по мокрому асфальту
прямо какое-то александр блоковское настроение
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went to Richard Lohr's loft to watch the debate. new yorkers, a decidedly sane lot.
too cold for no tights, but had to wear new dress before winter gets here.

i come back and discover that Murry the cat (who's life isn't too shabby)

apparently misbehaved in my absence

now he's eating rosh hashana fish
and i'm sippin' on chamomile
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Friday night dressed up to go on a date with myself (which ended up being a date with Fofych) to go see Vicky Christina.

Thanks, Woody, for making a movie about me! Good call on getting a blond for the role, very subtle! I had a good laugh at my expense. Several if the truth be told. And thanks for not having made it a few years ago, or I might not have gotten the joke, or at least found it as funny. :)
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hey, guys. i've missed you all. hope all is well. :)
your g
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מת אב ומת אלול ומת חומם
גם נאסף תשרי ומת עימם
רק נשארה גחלת עמומה
של אהבת הקיץ הקדומה
                                         - Natan Yonatan

Я думала ужас это когда нет работы и все время думаешь как ее найти. Типично наивно с моей стороны.
Ужас это, оказывается, когда ты находишь работу, и остается время думать обо всем остальном.

Век живи, век учись.

это я от недосыпа, наверно, такая мрачненькая.

В субботу на пляж??? Anyone? 
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В Цурихе оказывается можно не только работать как угорелой. Можно еще, например, купить травы.
Просыпаешься, значит, утром, ешь yogurt mit musli, говоришь всем странные слова вроде "груецци" и "данкХэ", да еще и "меррси" и "чао" с неожиданным акцентом, и идешь гулять. Направление - Lang Strasse, там рядом рынок на Helvetia Plaz. Хелвецция это та чувиха, которая стоит на крыше центральной поездной станции, и которая изображена на пяти-Франковой монетке. Ходишь по рынку, короче, покупаешь Швейцарские игрушки, тут начинаешь чувствовать сладкий запах и идешь по его направлению. Когда видишь симпатичных парней из Гамбии курящих огромный косяк, останавливаешься и присаживаешься рядом с ними. Они тебе дают покурить, ну а дальше все понятно - уходишь с покупкой, гуляешь по солнышку, покупаешь Итальянскую обувь. Потом единственная задача - как скурить восьмушку киллер-индики за пару недель не-отпуска. Но, Бог с ним, пусть это будеть ваша единственная проблема.

Да, чуть не забыла - когда проголодаешься, идешь в Ко-Оп (супермаркет), берешь pasta salad и бутылку красного. Их ты раскладываешь на полянке между музеем и речкой. Не забываешь поделится с белым лебедем. Он всегда голоден.

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фух! finally uploaded.

кому интересно, остальные тут:
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The last season of Weeds ended with Nancy Botwin standing on a hill with Guillermo, her "protection", and watching her house burn down (along with the rest of the neighborhood). I had this thought today as I came back to my apartment after a long absence that I wished everything I owned would burn down too.

What has meaning? The brilliant letters of someone in Jail, whom I'll never see again. A postcard from a best friend who went mad. Snapshots from college of people I no longer speak to. Business cards of restaurants we used to go to. Careful handwriting on a piece of paper ("here's my parents' number"). These things have meaning. But their meaning is old, no longer relevant.  Holding onto them is senseless and  incongruent.  Yet I didn't throw them out. I kept the letters the card and the piece of paper. I wish a flood would come and wash them away.

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I am walking home. Not exactly home, but close enough. Smiling. I go upstairs and on the third floor the distinct sounds of lovemaking stop me. A Russian accent. It's the girl who used to date a guy I used to date. The one who spilled a cup of ice water on me in a jealous fit backstage at Zak's concert in 2001. I've been in New York for a long time now. She comes. I'm mesmerized. The acoustics in this building are ridiculous. Her man comes. I decide listening in the stairwell is uncivilized and make my way up to the fifth floor.

Madonna blares out of a car outside. "I hope this feeling doesn't end tonight..."

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Kогда-то я была маленькой и не знала о чем говорят взрослые.
Я сидела за детским столом, и слушала только иx интонации.
По интонациям казалось что им нравится то, что они говорят.
Некоторые из ниx улыбались, сужали глаза и говорили медленно.
А некоторые еще сжимали губы и имели в виду что-то такое -
про мужчин и женщин. и мне было некомфортно, но интересно. эти же тети, с большими белыми зубами и блестящей красной помадой, смеялись слишком громко, задерая голову назад.
Другие тети - которые не смеялись, говорили басом, и все время
рассказывали что-то про своиx детей. Мне было от них скучно. Всегда был какой-нибудь дядя,
который со мной шутил специально так, чтобы я не поняла его шутку. меня это смущало и раздражало одновременно.
А тетя Лизка, которая была просто Лизка, редко приxодила на такие
вечера. У нее был писклявый голос и толстые очки, и очень много
игрушек, в которые она всегда со мной играла. Моя Лизка.

Current Mood:
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on a wing and a prayer (to return and to do more great things besides!).
было (и есть) лучще всяких ожиданий. тель авив, в этот раз, встретил меня с огромной любовью.
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so. yesterday.

приехал Дынин. пошли гулять из Дизенгоф до моря, и по набережной до Яфо. Долго.
перед входом в Старый Яфо, нашли супер аутентичный ресторан, один из немногих древних что остались, под названием 'Красивый Шабтай'. Рыбный (appropriately enough for one of the world's oldest port towns). Без меню. Получилось что-то сказочное. Мы были там одни. Нам подовали десяток разных салатиков, питы с заатар, поставили (по моей просьбе, правда) восточную музыку, поджигали сигареты, подавали турецкий кофе и чай с нааной (мятой), а рыба на гриле, даже не буду про рыбу. гениально было.
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day 3 in Tel Aviv.
похмелье из-за вчерашнего пения до 6 утра.
провалялась в кровати весь день.
слава богу Дынин приежжает завтра, и придется ходить по моему любимому Яфо, и к новому Тель Авивскому пирсу.

к 7 очухалась, пошла на обед с Замиром и Гиладом, старые друзья из НЙ, которые переехали обратно в Ил. лапочки, красавци, и вообще - умницы. повели в модное грузинское место на Лилинблум, где вкусно кормят и девушка диджей играет мои любимые старые израильские песни, ремиксд, и народ отличный. потом ребятки ушли а я осталась пить с Норвежским дипломатом, Павликом. итд итп итттт.

сейчас я дома, и думаю на хуя я ушла из последнего бара, куда повел дипломат, где играла кавер бэнд все хиты восмидесятых. ведь я была единственная кто знала все слова.
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вечерние гулянки перешли в песни с новыми друзьями до Тель Авивского рассвета. Песни на капоте, с бутылками вина, как в забытом прошлом, которого вовсе и небыло.

хорошее место Лима Лима. и вообще мой город средиземный с небольшими дворами.

6 утра. джет лэг наоборот. дожили.

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Сегодня был день Ностальжи.
утром по Бен Ехуда пошла на пляж.
потом на Кикар Атарим, и вниз на улицу Ласал, где была моя школа.
30-летьняя память не подвила. Нашла надпись - "здесь основалась школа имени А.Д. Гордон..."
потом маникюр. все такие свои.
потом книжный, поддрерженых. купила Биалика, 1952 г. издания. завтра надо юридический словарь.
потом фалафель.
потом домой.
вечером опять гулянки.

всех люблю.


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но я уже в кровати в Тель Авиве. была на концерте Los Caparos. Симпатичные ребята, и неплохо поют и грают. :)
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Случайно ткнула пальцем на ноябрь 2002 года в моем журнале. Да. Время летит. А Группа Ленинград все время прилетает.


ничего я этим не хочу сказать. ни..че..гошеньки.

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to stop with the PLAID.

the nineties weren't that long ago, mkay.
and they weren't good to begin with!
i thought we all acknowledged grunge was a big, big mistake a while back?
same goes for vests (the american meaning, not the british).
and it sure as heck goes for fabric that looks like it should be covering your grandma's chairs.

except for carolina herrera - not a single decent collection so far.
and that's just sad, because carolina is not an innovator, she's a classic.

sad, sad, sad!

upd: может я пидар? а, ну да.

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I talk a lot about how San Francisco is repetitive and provincial.
Today I'd like to even the score by talking about New York.

New York is one of those places where you can slide by, hell make a career out of, being vacuously hip. You can go to one of the great art or design schools, graduate, and remain fundamentally lacking in even the most basic erudition, lucky to tell the difference between Jurgen Habermas and Jurgen Teller.

And why not. You surround yourself with a slew of Ghesquiere and Tarantino-wannabes, all of whom know as little as you about the historical, the social, the literary, and you have yourself a big old Gentlemen-let's-not-start-sucking-each-other's-dicks-quite-yet Party.

In this dandy atmosphere of tenuous pomposity one can spend one's entire life in New York City, comfortably situated somewhere on the outskirts of the big machine that manufactures image. Doing "production" by day and making bad (hey, maybe the Russians will buy it!) art by night.

There will always be plenty of "industry parties" to go to, portentous silences to maintain, and deconstructed clothes to wear. What there won't be enough of is substance. But everyone will be too preoccupied admiring your Marni necklace to notice, trust me.

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i do :) and practically for FREE, seriously.

excellent everyday bootses:

just хвастаюсь, so what.

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Don't ask me why
but i've always wanted to get high with Snoop.
Just sit on the porch somewhere in new york and smoke a fatty.

I am so weird. I acknowledge that.

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It's been a year and a half since i got new sneakers, and it looks like the mood this year is decidedly more cheerful, at least sartorially speaking. Hey, i'm doing what i can here.

and, by the way, i do <3 Buenos Aires (and it is that colorful a city). so i'm not frontin', i'm representin'! ;)

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oh crap
ocherednoi den' prohodit neoploho...net vremeni dazhe shrifty ustanovit'.
Okean Elzy proshel na ura, spasibo obereg ,collagen ve_ro_nichka i otsutvueshemu shorman ! nu i vsem ostal'nym...

eshche spasibo Zhene i Andriuhe, no eto otdel'no. :)

Current Music:
Tequilajazz :)
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back in new york
the only poetic thing
is my cat murry
he missed me
he walks around me in circles
and leans his little head
to rub against my hand
my nose
my forehead
my cat murry
first he hissed at me
just like new york
he's sensitive that way
why did i go leaving him
for so long anyway
my sweet cat murry

Tags: ,

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the sun shines a little too brightly for november
the hills of San Francisco are forlorn
a lone jogger descends upon Laguna Honda
from the faded sloping grove
too bright
and a little too quiet
even downtown feels like
an abandoned
hollywood set
half-closed store-front windows
chairs resting on tables
in various configurations
and everyone wearing bad shoes
except the hip kids in Campers
the hip kids are my friends
even though few of them
are kids
and most of them
are having babies
a strange peace
pervades the Bay Area
even as a great sense of joy
is absent
but it's an honest place
no surprises
unless you find honesty surprising
this is San Francisco
and nothing is going to change
for a long time

Tags: ,
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today i have no tortured verses
just a zit to ruin my looks at the conference
and influenza

i realized i never really knew san francisco
even though i grew up here

when you grow up,
you occupy a very small universe:
your school, your parents' home, the local pharmacy
where you go to buy Garbage Pail Kid trading cards
with your kid brother

but here it turns out there's a whole city
and it's slow and rather empty
and very nice very gay fellows give you directions
without your even asking for any
and a girl smiles
when you pass her on Laguna Honda
because who the hell walks on Laguna Honda, in three hundred-dollar heels,
it's a goddam freeway
but she smiles sweetly
california-style, like she used to smoke weed with you in college
or something

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it's good to be in california
the air pierces so clean
it goes right through you
and rips you open

it's good to be ripped open
and feel new york, all bloody,
tumble out onto the ground
with its subway cars and sidewalk bars and noisy beepbeep stressed-out motherfuckers can't i get a fucking job bull shit

and maybe it's unbecoming but FUCK if i care
it's good to finally let down your hair and be weak
out in the open
just like that

Tags: ,

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at my age you don't complain about being stuck
you slap yourself on the ass and get unstuck, don't you.
at my age it's no longer apropos to write poetry
especially if it sucks
and leaning on your elbows while lying on the floor
isn't bad, but it's certainly not what it used to be
(so why is it that you wanna get fucked
so much harder than you used to?)
i don't know if it's okay to admit that i don't know anymore
but i don't know, i'm not sure, and i haven't learned to pretend i do
not like you.
at my age you go on because.
and the meaning of life is obvious:
death blows.
and that's pretty much how it goes.


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bubbles float across my screen
and i watch them sadly
you destroy me on a whim
yet i love you madly

neighbors float across the yard
twilight softly falling
should have slapped you really hard
would have been enthralling

letters float across the page
silly little letters
wherefore at my ripe old age
do i not know better?



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It is rarely known that ("ne me quitte pas") was written after Brel was thrown out of Zizou's (Suzanne Gabriello - his mistress at the time) life after casting shame and sadness upon her. Zizou was pregnant from Brel and had an abortion after Brel refused fatherhood. Odd as it may seem, in Brel's tormented and emotional mind, it is she that had left him. Understanding this, provides a narrow but magnificent glimpse into the spirit of this giant performer.

Version with English subtitles:
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sexy or not:

upd: heard from the no.cal. contingent, how about some New Yorkers, Москвичи, Питер? Вам нра или не нра?

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