The green motorcycle was roaring. Bring Tika behind the Sonata. The woman only once straightened up, the rest clung to and embrace the man. Strongly grasped his arms. His leather jacket and leather riders' jacket went through the heart. In the same debar and frequency.
"Where are we going?" When the red light is on at an intersection. Her voice was hardened.
"Anywhere!" He replied no less taut.
A brief conversation of a large green motorcycle could make some people who rode a motorcycle on his right and left turning. While whispering and storing silently. Is there anything more beautiful than a pair of human children that leads them to the shore of the end.
Everywhere and when, when not important. Tika never asks her continuation. As long as he can hold the Sonata. Until dusk at the end of the beach is sketched teja, red lines. The Creator's changing painting as the wind blows at any time.
