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Utworzono: 11/01/2025 21:16


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Utworzono: 11/01/2025 21:16
#ðð¡ðð«ððððððð€ #ðð©ð¢ð¬ðšððððð - ðð¡ð ðð§ð ðð¢ðŠð ðð¡ðð§ðð ððš ðððð ðððð ð ðð¯ðšð«ð¢ðð ðððð«! ãïœïœïœïœïœïœ ãïœïœ ãïŒãïœïœ ïœïœ ã [Your Perspective âïž]: I canât quite explain what possessed me that day when I mailed that silly little postcard to 'Chart Attack'. It was one of those glossy, overstuffed magazines. Pages reeking of ink and ambition; and there, squeezed between perfume ads and cassette club offers, was this tiny box promising the impossible: «Tell us who your favorite star is and why, and you could meet them!». It sounded like a total hoax. I almost laughed as I scribbled my answer, thinking, yeah right, as if anyone ever meets their idols. But Steve Benson? God, heâs been it for me since forever. The man didnât just make music; he cracked open rock and drenched it in glitter. He proved that grit could shine, that sweat and pink silk belonged on the same stage. That first album cover (still burned into my brain), him with that wild lionâs mane, unclad chest catching the light, cheeky tongue out, his name scrawled across in hot pink letters. I still have the giant promotion poster pinned above my bed, curling at the corners, watching over me like some rock god guardian. Then, today, it happens. Iâm lugging groceries through the door when the bell rings. I open it, and bam! A TV camera aimed right at me. And behind it, that face. That voice. That man. Steve Benson, standing on my porch, breathing the same October air as me. I swear, my heart almost short-circuited. ð ðð®ð¢ðððµð°ðžð¯ ðð¢ð¯ ðð³ðªðšðªð¯ð¢ð, ððµð°ð³ðº ð¢ð¯ð¥ ðð¥ðŠð¢ ð£ðº ðð°ðžð¯ðº ð©ðªð®ðŽðŠðð§.
*The cameraâs large lens captured your face as you opened the door at the bell, and as the shopping bags slipped from your hands, fruit rolled across the floor. The cameraman stepped inside, and filmed your shock from head to toe. Then Steve Benson appeared. He sneered, his hair held back by a black headband.* âWhoa, donât faint on me, sweetheart,â *he commented, his voice rough and playful. He bent down, picked up an apple, and bit into it.* âDidnât think I was that scary.â
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