On the bonnet - car power window
I was sitting in a traffic jam on Wilshire Avenue.
Around a shopping mall in Beverly, police cars scream.
Four children were trampled to death in the battle to buy baby peas, and there was an indecency quarrel in the emergency service.
Funeral directors and life insurance salespeople gather at the scene with television staff, film staff, cable staff and agents of the film company.
Los Angeles loves disaster.
Los Angeles loves disaster as much as I love my car and this is my friend.
Man, I don't know what to do if something happens to the car.
This means years of treatment. And mourning. And a veil. Everything.
I briefly imagined myself in the veil, smelling dramatically, red --
Through the Black Web lip mouth.
Although Faye Dunaway did it in Chinatown, it was difficult to smoke through the veil.
"There are many people who are possessed by the first spirit --
Generation of Firebird
All Camaro classes and 4-
Barrel factory building.
I drove a 1969 400HO car straight out of Detroit and, of course, a convertible, like any porch --sittin' lager-
"69 Years" is one of the great classics.
Big and dirty, no vulgar fins-
More rare than those wild horses, everyone is driving in the west of Hollywood, more beautiful than your average Chevy Coachman, more muscular than any boy --zone four-wheel.
It is said to be too bulky.
Purists have been there for 68 years, but I don't agree.
Flash gits worship 1973 crossAm.
Of course, GTO is smaller and easier to manage ---
Someone might say it's a girl's car.
But I said, big is good, less is less.
It was a through train in 68 years. -
On the night of the cruise, all modified modicum and anal twits.
69 years is the beauty of decadent, is the last year that Peter Fonda became pin, Woodstock year and symbol of the family
The hippie was shot and the Angel went crazy to Altamont. 1969.
I saw their relationship because of the heat.
Night like Big Bird scum-
Painted yellow Corvetteup sub-
Frame, pinchweld support, idiot axle;
But mine is the original four. bolt main-
Rust block, 100%
Dark red color. Not pillar-box, not fire-engine. Blood.
Yes, the nails are matched.
There are many options for Firebird.
It has power steering, power brake, power top, power window, power seat and power antenna.
Lexan plastic, chrome grille, Ghost tail light, pull wheel and wide, soft, double-
Bed barrel seats give up space, wide
Open space to provide any sexual position for the minds and fucking people of this great free world.
The Hood hood is a metal bed made for it.
The girl saw a lot of moves on this beautiful old car.
I mean, there's Lonnie who likes me to relax on the gear bar, and Austin's cowboys who tie me up and push me face down, so when he took me away from the back, I had only the taste of black leather in my nose. Leather. Darkness. Screaming-out orgasms.
I don't recommend enough.
There was a man named Sebastian, except that he had a thick Dick that looked like a gene-loving guy who had very little memory of him.
Most people like the hood of it.
Face up, face down, wear underpants, take off underpants, who cares that it's all metal and fuel, and then heat it up.
Some drivers put down their windows and waved at me.
I opened the golden box with a snap and re-painted the red smooth.
Red lipstick, red car, red nails.
I look great. I want to have sex myself.
"Good car," said a punk from passing Packard.
The beard sitting on Lexus said, "Marry Me . ""Madre de Dios! El Coche! La Guapa! Magnificissimo!
"A Mexican said on the wheel of a 1976 Cadillac Eldorado. "Whore!
Shouted in Ford pick's plaid shirt --up.
"Is that praise ? " I looked at him coldly through the cat's eyes --
The eyes are as dark as the night. "Sure, honey. " Jealousy. Jealousy.
No matter where you go, there is jealousy.
I turn on the radio.
The eagle stands in a corner of Winslow, Arizona.
Hot metal extends to Santa Monica and the Heat shakes from the top of the hood.
The radio and "Cam!
Then whistle and gunshots in the distance.
It's a Mini on the right.
There are all kinds of clothes, bagels and beautiful women in the market.
One of the people on marl Road on the left said to the other: "Bob, I got swollen.
"The heat burned over my head.
I drank a white grape. 'n'-
Cranberry ginseng soda
Looking up, I saw Twenty red parrots sitting on a palm tree, still like red jewels on green leaves.
Then, without warning, as a whole, they flew into the air, speeding, a scarlet red stripe through the cloudless blue sky.
A ponytail in a suit flew over and came down the window, and as the traffic finally began to move slowly forward, a bunch of roses threw into the back seat of the convertible. "I love you! " he shouted. Gad.
Everyone is romantic.
I met Bleak hard court at a barbecue in Bel Air.
He wore the shades of the mirror and told me to go to his "little priest" or something else.
He enjoyed the peak of his acting career and is now settling down and enjoying the luxury of his acting career.
He has experienced hundreds of car accidents, nuclear explosions, and alien attacks over the years, but now, as years have made his face more honorable, it has brought him the illusion of worldly, he spent less and less time at work, wasting a lot of wealth.
So, as all the old action heroes have to do, Heather has retired to his sauna where he is sitting planning to run for president.
He lives underground and he wants to be safe when the end of the world happens.
"If it works for the Pueblo people, it can work for me," he told me . ". A team of pot-
Holers and interior designers create an underground maze under the hill of Hollywood hills.
The network of caves and grottoes is a masterpiece of engineering that protects residents from fires, floods, hurricanes, riots and all other living features of California.
It is not suitable for everyone to live underground and dark.
Bleak's third wife, Hedy Hardcourt, had to be re-admitted to the treatment center at Bob Hope Drive, where qualified consultants promised to "provide a unique environment, to allow her to regain control of her life.
"The entrance is hidden by a lake, and its secret presence is indicated by the traffic jam of the limousine built at the water's edge.
Sets, implants, highlights and teeth poured out of the car, rotating in a candle maze --
Lighting tunnel leading to the central cavity that makes up the banquet hall.
A charming young man came to me.
He's fresh, dark brown.
Eyes and blessings are all that a young man deserves, like a smile, saying that I can do it with you at any time.
You know, I know, the world and his niece know it.
"Good evening, Madam," he said.
"I'm your valet parking tonight.
"He opened the driver's door for me, and I asked him to see the whole picture from my cleavage, which was pushed up and enhanced by a wired leopard bra.
He observed with curiosity and admiration as if looking at a house he knew could not afford.
He also stared at my chest and said, "good car . "
"In his 60 s" yes.
"I got Bonneville, a hard-top sports car. . .
Of course, I had sex in it.
"Are you wearing underwear ? "" "Good.
"He pushed me back on the hat, kissed my mouth hard and pushed my skirt up with his hand.
When he stuffed three fingers into my fanny, I was all wet. "Man.
You fucking cat. . .
"He closed his eyes and pointed his hand further at me to reach my climax for the first time.
He pressed the drum bag on his jeans tightly against my pelvis, then pushed me back to the banquet on the passenger and driver's seat and buried his face between my thighs.
He used his fingers to separate the labia, and he pressed his tongue firmly on my clit, flicking relentlessly and licking greedily. I love L. A.