«She glanced upon him from the side, as he relaxed post a tennis match staring smilingly towards the splendid view into the skyfree horizon, and she added a quite happily «When people learn how to look upon themselves as more of a kind of ´dish´, its clearly obvious that someone in the media would rather appear more of like a stuffed sausage, to some degree»– she thought twice until surplusing, that «then again others, like myself for instance, if anyone had a bite of me, though, they would be cured». Assuming that ´others´ were ill in the first place. And then, «Can «stuffed sausages» have pure meanings, are they to be trusted? Or, can they even count on themselves?»
He turned his face towards her, dwelling at her beautiful body in her white bathing suit and shirt, content with the fact that she would never let him down when it came to surprisingly intuitive acknowledgements, quite entertaining, and true, she was fresh, and healthy, for sure, pure.
«Remember this phrase please, its valuable for my health label Cleara», he nodded to his phone, while zipping his choriander-water.
She giggled, streching her long legs towards the sun, after relaxation in the shaddow during a hot morning, post tennis and herb-gardening. «You will go for a swim», she asked, he joined.»
- P. 17, from the author Sugarplum Flowpow