harbin

Bireactor jets were roaring on the TV set and a red circle, like a ballon was trying and focus on the canopy before a high note get out of the woofer: it was not long before my grey cells connected it to the famous title of the hit  movie of our college years. The hero was quite an arrogant fellow, a wild horse fighting with another ace of the patrol, a blond guy, refrigerator like, with the short brush hair that the waves love so much.  Once is good. Twice is better. They were not long to meet again one of those days of thunders,  big engines, once more roaring  in their hands. Nascar. I just cant remember their numbers.  Nineties were just about to begin.  And it  reminded me the  summer days in Britanny when Mickey, Phil and I used to go for a minigolf after dinner. Minigolf is a children game. Don't need any wood, a single iron could make it for the eighteen holes. It was furthermore interesting because it was after dinner and the light of the day was turning to the big orange halo making the silhouette of the tall pines turn to a dark papercut scene above us.  Mickey was protesting with his belgian accent, giving the little ball, myriads of nicknames we never heard before. Phil, for he was the kind of guy, girls are addicted to, used to laugh and to tell him jokes so as to make it easier. What was so important in this game? In fact, the loser should pay his fellowmen a bottle of Marie Brizard, that is a French Anisette, sweet syrup you drink on the rocks. The beverage is absolutly delicious and also terrible for your head because of the sugar it contains. On the other hand its anise and plants melange had something of a potion and it cures many diseases, excepted perhaps dipsomania golfers are often subject to .