Villainess’s Sweet Everyday

The three motorcycles were probably swept up as they willed. Putting the ring in the space made way for me. For joy or not yet, Willie. Um, and when my voice looks back across my bike, Uncle Turban is floating like a fluffy ghost. I was still there. I climb a chari. Diseased down the forest road. Paved roads are easy to run. The leaves of the tree dance and fall at their own weight. There's nothing to interrupt. Proceed in a great hurry. Is it time for you at the lake? Can it be fulfilled and returned? And why does Uncle Turban obstinately restrain and track you down? A nasty opponent. Um, and Uncle Turban from behind. Already put your strength into the dust and pedal. I see a lake ahead of me. Finally a goal.