Only the eerie midnight mountain sounds of Bangaan were awake when she crept into his room and impaled herself into his pre-pee hardness, a vengeful explosion of feminine cum atoning for a snub at the Banaue market, warm like M's salacious mouth sucking his sanity in the university bleachers, jealously wet like the juices of a spurned Miss Barnacles but wafting of innocence from the genius of Tarlac as dark fantasies of Adelaide and H were scrawled in the wonderwall of a kleptomaniac and the diary of a dream catcher, Miss A's spinstership foretold by the pungence of a failed beauty queen's pussy as she was peeing in San Jose City.
The Girl from Nowhere was Uncorked as the master sommelier who recommended ice cold beer for Tuesday's dinakdakan, kinilaw na baka and boiled peanuts; a listing of Red Horse and pineapple juice to go with Thursday's inihaw na bangus and piattos; and a master plate of bland sopas for the community pantry in Baloc and assorted pork barbecue (laman, atay, isaw, balingit) for the fellowship of the Amaranth in Maligaya.
Through it all, the Phantom Biker lurked in the sidelines of the Giro d'Italia where his Confidential Assignment to possess Egan Bernal with a mountain biker's spirit was accomplished with the conquest of Campo Felice's graveled slopes, the maglia rosa claimed to honor Jupiter's Legacy, a portion of Ilog Baliwag explored, the Eagle's Nest still closed at 6:30 in the morning, vaccines and deaths dominating a scary week...
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