культура курения
🖤   Oslo, Norway
 
 
𝔚𝔥𝔢𝔫 ℑ 𝔡𝔦𝔢, 𝔫𝔬 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫 𝔠𝔯𝔶.
                                      𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝖂𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝖆 𝕲𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝖎𝖓 𝕸𝖞 𝕬𝖗𝖒𝖘
                                                     𝔏𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔰𝔫𝔬𝔴𝔣𝔞𝔩𝔩, 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔠𝔯𝔶 𝔞 𝔰𝔦𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔪
                                                  𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔱𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔰 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱 𝔯𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔬𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔫 𝔴𝔞𝔩𝔩
                                                            𝔄𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔫𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔞𝔯, 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔦𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔯
                                                ...ℭ𝔞𝔰𝔠𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔫 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔡 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔪
                                                        𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫, 𝔞 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔰𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔫 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔡𝔬𝔴
                                                                              ...
                                                         𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔲𝔤𝔲𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔱
                                                          𝔈𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔬𝔞𝔨 𝔬𝔣 𝔴𝔬𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯
                                                   𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔲𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔫 𝔳𝔬𝔦𝔠𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔦𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔪
                                                                              †
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BlackBatLicorice 13 apr @ 6:20 
-rep bad wh