среда, 24 октября 2007 г.

Wurm, soup, rain


Wulnikowski scuffled along the mall, and thought: "Why? Why not taste the soup more if you hineinkippt sand? " The rain strähnte the hair over his collar and formed a small puddle in the space between his boots. The hard Pappköfferchen in his left hand steeped slowly. His toe hurt at the lack of appearance. But no longer remember. He wrinkle his gray eyes together to get better by the walls of water can be seen. Last acorns ploppten plucked from the tree canopy over him.

On the sidewalk in front of him, he saw a girl sitting worn with a worm in her hand held and cried. Their champagne curls seemed among the flood water to melt.

"Why are you crying?" Asked Wulnikowski the girl.

"I am not crying, I sing," gluckerte the girl.

"But why so you singing?" Wulnikowski crumpled perplexed his forehead.

"Thus the worm can laugh! My name is incidentally Milla. "

"Oh?" , Exclaimed Wulnikowski.

"Yes, exactly," smirked Milla, "Goodbye."

Milla jumped on, sat down on her bicycle and rode under the ongoing Regenplätschern them.

"So small, and can even ride a bicycle," Wulnikowski thought.

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