So as the night drew in, such was the shock of the previous days experiences that blob (as he was known to everyone) was close to tears. He seemed to trundle along for hours under the misguided allusion that somehow everything that had happened could be changed by endless meandering (as if to put the Gods in a tissy and make them forget). The forest was a friend to noone except perhaps spriglets and giant rabbits who could muster enough energy to bound freelance into the clearing. Its remoteness and inaccessability meant that the local crims could stash their loot, shooters or bodies there and nobody would be the wiser. As Blobs' mind raced stallion like through more emotions than an afternoon of soap opera, his intense concentration was not even distracted by thunderclaps in the distance. As night turned to early morning a surreal calm had descended like the dew onto the greenery. Blob turned into a giant rabbit and skipped hungrily towards O' Connell Street and freelance records to collect 'The boy with the arab strap' that had arrived a day late. kev -dublin. +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list please mail "sinister@majordomo.net". To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to "majordomo@majordomo.net". For list archives and searching, list rules, FAQ, poor jokes etc, see http://www.majordomo.net/sinister +---+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +---+ +----------------------------------------------------------------------+