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there was an ashtray full of cigarette butts on the working desk in his private studio. when he came in, he carried along the thick scent of tobacco with him. i breathed his face in, i took his life. we are born to conform to the strange force of gravity. then we hid our laughters and curse like madmen. to life. to absurdity. to darkness. to random sinners just like us. we are lovers, we can't stop loving eachother.