Outtake Kate Playground

POETIC PROSE
Arrive in the area of highway.
Know that we are going somewhere and take a time that fits in an off-time because it is similar to all those who resemble him ...
The area of highway, the area where they beat and where wheat is still beating somewhere in the world. The air we breathe out of the car after a long road enkylosante. The R, the letter when it is rolled into the mouth or throat and that I see almost identical to all those countless suspended when I drag and drop of my escapades. I've been away for a long time but here it's become such areas than elsewhere on the motorway! These times
hung suspended in the clouds, with this belly itches who often said: "A half-hour, no more! You know that the road is long, very long. So do not add, do not delay! ... " All life, all life! Nostalgia for all these efforts did not end that recur again between love and hate, between nice and comfortable-paid with frantic race toward nothing. This is not a ritual nor is a must: I did not even have the choice to leave when I wanted to tape! I'm stuck with my remakes of competition horses, holidays with children and other rides, especially with all the energy geometry variables develop.
Here, immediately, put the bucket I just moved to the horse. At the front door of the small van and himself stuck, patient player! Meanwhile the effort to supply its formidable muscle. Live only for it to be applied with the greatest skill possible. The eye bright, brilliant expressiveness, it is there, to retirement today in meadows that have been born! ... Finally quiet!