Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Bushnell Trophy Red Point



In counting days, the dizziness come over you. So many hours to act in a vacuum of minutes added to the calculation of nothing monstrous, seconds after a that may already be no more.
So you inebriated your senses, drops skin friendly, perfumes your evening. Tomorrow is another place that belongs to you more. Tomorrow is a distance that you already squeezed.

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