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paste!
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the fly that missed the windshield veers off into the bucket of oil on the side of the road and struggles with the ending moments much more than if it'd been splattered. meanwhile, the ground underneath the bucket is sick of being an observer so it becomes light and disappears into the eyes of a cheetah, following along the track, sprinting here and there in an attempt to gauge it's age according to the feeling of windforce and the amount of distance it has acquired against its nemesis the racecars. the fly is dead. the cheetah sucks down an ice cube. all the sponsors have gone crazy. the area is burning, the whole world is burning. the lemonade vendor counts to ten and plays the accordion, which is fitting.
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020801
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