Word: glides
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...afternoon fragrance." The woman who wears it is fresh and casual, and, although breathtakingly lovely, not obviously paired with a lover. Such a wild flower, as LaMicela explains with a poet's shy pride, might ride her bicycle alone down a country road some misty afternoon. She might glide round a bend, only to find the road blocked by a herd of cows. The cowherd, struck by her beauty, might shoo his beasts away, and she, touched by his courtesy, might hand him a flower from a bouquet she had gathered. Cut: and the noise you hear is millions...
...suited Prince William, blinking in the early-morning sunshine. The visitors had landed in Alice Springs, smack in the heart of the desolate Australian outback. From there, nine-month-old William was flown off to Woomargama, a comfy 4,000-acre ranch, where he will rest while his parents glide through their 25,000-mile, six-week tour of Australia and New Zealand, returning nine times to check up on their son and recuperate. Their first stop: Room 303 (complete with hot tub and tea bags) in the roadside, 52-unit Gap Motel, just down the street from the Piggly...
...itself is extraordinarily exciting to watch. The seats and the infield fence are close to the track, and on the turns you can see almost a quarter of the course. The public address system keeps up a faster commentary than any ABC announcer. On television, the cars seem to glide through the turns, accelerating smoothly into the straightaways. But the roaring machines actually skid through each turn and make sickening little sideways hops towards the wall No one was injured in this year's race, but it's easy to see how Gordon Smylie's car lost traction...
...under Fugard's flawless direction. The final scene will not leave the mind's lens. Willie shoots his carfare money into a jukebox. Lena Home chants the lyrics of Little Man, You ve Had a Busy Day. The two men take each other's arms and glide across the stage in the manner of Rogers and Astaire, while the audience sits desolate in pain...
...kills a woman and may, or may not, get caught. Sentences, conversations repeat constantly, occasionally inaudible but more often reinforcing the plaintive refrain of "no communication." "Say something, Woyzeck," "Say something, Marie," come the incantations as apocryphal scenes--of singles bars, of children at play, of cynical audience reaction--glide past. Nothing really ruptures the silence...