In the wind ... and it breaststroke lot

It is a kind (ephemeral) in fashion: one is part of gratin but spit in it because we have it before our eyes and it sucks. It allows to play the prophet informer sociologist while polishing the navel.

The pub is certainly a great evil, but to impersonate a plague worthy of the Holocaust, must stop sniffing my little Frederic. Especially if to align the features of totally muddy minds of namedropping trend, jokes to 1.99 euro, a flush history of daisies and a style that makes head hurt too much to want flashy. Book one interest: to learn a little about the workings of this world of jackals, though we normal people, the pub, it does not specifically prevent us from sleeping.

Beigbeder, a healthy insurgent? But his book is completely in his image: superficial. And child. His denunciation yet so much the taste of complacency déssillée poor toddler seeking redemption it quickly becomes unbearable.

To reserve for stations shelving.

Poor stations.