"The man who walks ..." said his friend Paul, "Lost Ones searching for her in her flight futile and exhausting ... "Sipping white friend Paul said his thinking, his chapter:" The important thing is the way, the track ... Which sand works he's arguing his case and that it contains, so heavy that lowers his shoulder, his body twists? "Slam command language and the boy a drink before his friend Paul continues" From sand, the material of this time passing to and fro, the hourglass before the hatchet, ending in early scrum, what is lost in space, turning round to finish with the straight, eventually stumble, do not fake that saves and reveals what lives under your feet ... "His eyes in the vague as vague as the high seas Dilasser, suspended as are his fragile planet, his friend Paul concludes, "After all, this man is a walking piece of junk rusting away ..."
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