Walkabout
Rob - July 25, 2004

Her eyelids flutter. She sighs and settles on the coarse rug laid out on the uneven ground, finally (after hours of squirming and shifting) finding the perfect position, where the small pebbles don't dig into her back quite so sharply and the twiggy bits of underbrush don't stick her quite so offensively. A small sigh, and her eyes close. She is peaceful. She is content. She feels herself slowly drifting toŚ

Owoooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!

 

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