It 's a jungle. The world of work but also that of social relations. It 's a fucking quagmire.
must be careful. It 'full of sharks, he says. I say that rather than salmon sharks are too busy to travel upstream to take care of chores like a shark. S got a shark at the end of its dignity, its institutional role. It 's the bad, the nightmare of the surfer. The salmon is trendy, it's pink, pink salmon. E 'slim, sleek, toned, athletic, spectacular. He's in the pack, migrates to where it suits them. Upstream. It goes against the natural course of things. He knows where he wants to get and do not care of the rest. You pass by, laughing, boasting, backlash and makes you eat dust. It 'full of himself, AO, salmon and I am Who the fuck are you? Basically I am not a salmon. Sometimes maybe I've got to prove, in the darkness of my head. But I was so obnoxious that I sent her to fuck herself. The answer is understatement. If the salmon you take less seriously, if sometimes put into account the possibility of being wrong, that he exaggerated, if my dear salmon did self-criticism instead of self-irony then would be less embarrassed when food becomes a dead pussy: carpaccio , croutons, butterflies, sushi. From dead salmon is a fucking spineless.
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