Hold me closer tiny dancer Count the headlights on the highway Lay me down on sheets of linen You had a busy day today.
"Which highway?" "Excuse me," he said.
The hollow moan of the highway makes me wonder if I've finally broken all connections, without even really wanting to.
The Pacific Coast Highway took me past Redondo Beach apartment houses with names like La Dolce Vita, through surfing territory in Huntington Beach and Newport Beach, and on to the dolphin-art boutiques of Laguna Beach.
I remembered the agonizing hours that I spent on the highway above me, anxious about missing a flight or making it home in time.
Speaking of characters, if one of them is a handsome man on a Vespa on the Montauk Highway, count me in!
But the bogus X6 ActiveHybrid crossover, rated at just 19 m.p.g. on the highway, reminds me of the Lexus LS 600h L hybrid sedan: It is overwrought and pointless, a piece of green window dressing.
Who has stood where I standbefore or after love, asking why he came here,why this blue spruce I'm looking on, unflinchable,resists the winds as people never canor why this highway encircling me, alone again — my conference done, tomorrow I go home — drives some to lives of rich desserts, some livesof stolen crumbs, and for me neither.
If not, here are a two more headlines to tip you off: Hackers Remotely Kill a Jeep on the Highway – With Me in It and Hacktivists taking aim at Dallas-Fort Worth police departments.
They've been a fucking highway for me".
