Empty road lies like a lost knife in sharp grass, beetle palmer - old passenger, so old on this road of moonlight. Cold cocktail in his blood. The night in his arms, as heavy as handcuffs, icy moon in the palms like ancient coin and stars flowing apart as if sprinkled by an old cynic's hands. Even the never-ending memories seem like one elusion.
Empty road with lakes on both sides filled with coldest lunar metal, large empty cottages clothed with swallows nests and doors stuck. Night on hands like handcuffs and passengers own counterparts. Path like a knife lost in the grass and the womens body smelling of nothing. Absolute cleanliness in the rooms & total realisation of that which remains forever.