How To Repaint A Bike

she still on the threshold of the forest

... or on the threshold of a new world?


I had never seen a white forest.

White hail.

The white path, in a million shot, the undergrowth and mud flows by gravity to follow 'the slope of the path. And in between, a quadriceps furious, I. And my bike, my new gem.

Hail hurts, and the sound of thunder and 'giant. Sketch faster, 'I can, not' good to be among the trees in the furious storm. And the angry and 'really, but fortunately the path of return 'almost all downhill, and my screams of excitement is lost, pitted grains of white ice and cold drops of rain.

I wanted to be cool today, and I would say that there is no 'bad.

I completely washed, riding a mountain bike, darting into the woods, mountains, amid the flood. Wet your ass up, now they are in the water. Still

words, speak and cry alone, and I appeal to you, who knows 'why'? Maybe 'cause I'm in the water, really. I'm in the brown river that is now 'became what was recently a path.

What a life!

...

That coolness and 'did not last long, now I hit the keys, the curtain behind me inflates and deflates as if breathing.

How the hell do you read and reread the last e-mail received, and acting, with an ant wheel that crashes on the desktop and can not get back straight? You break the concentration, of course! But it makes you smile, and 'too stupid!

feel drops out in the yard, perhaps refreshing rain manna ... that would be in this sultry night.
Ok, the ant there 'more', continue reading: it takes concentration to play, especially to recite a text so '.