God, I rode the mule. Down that twisting gorge, towards some running water. Carrot swung hard and orange. In the sun, is such a thing possible? Under a star like her, anything is. When I smell no evil, hear no buzz following tail swish. I reel in that pointed non fruit for lunch. Then I taste its evil, and my mind.? Swims in that Glacier's run off. The freezing burn of Winter's death. Now pooling for Browns with hooking Eddies. Hooked into that filtered agony, and trying to avoid the stare of my mute jack-ass. I appologize for nothing, but tomorrow.