The Bad Apple_Paris_The Follice Chronicles - Pt.6: The Rations of Toast That Haunt My Dreams_Travell
Catalog Guide:
The Bad Apple
He hates flying.He’s the most frequent of fliers and yet, even now, he feels the tension building in his body, and sweat beading on his forehead. Climbing into a glorified Pringle’s tube and being propelled at frightening speeds by one of the most combustible liquids known to science is not his idea of a good time.Henry knows this. Henry is one of the few who know him well enough to understand this about him.He’s also not a fan of the Big Apple. Give him the peace and quiet of the Scottish countryside any day of the week. But needs must, and Henry has requested this meeting, so what else can h...
Paris
“Pleasure,” I answer, smiling widely as I answer the custom’s agent at Charles De Gaulle airport. I’m back in Paris and I feel as though every bit of weight is off my shoulders for the first time in over a decade. With my passport stamped and my bags collected, I make my way to the RER. Scratch that, the longer distance metro line in Paris isn’t called the RER anymore. I make a mental note to look up the new name again in case I ever have to ask for directions. I approach the automatic ticket machines and make my selection. I need to pick a long term metro pass, but I’d have to go to the...
The Follice Chronicles - Pt.6: The Rations of Toast That Haunt My Dreams
In addressing every man, woman, and child at Follicle Farm, I assuage their concerns about our safety following a recent raid by the pluck squad. ‘Fleeing Follicle Farm is the coward’s way out! We will stand our ground and use the additional manpower we’ve accrued to fortify our defences. We will dig pits! We will lay traps!’The campfire collective concurs with whoops and hollers. We celebrate our resolution to remain by dancing rings around the fire. I have a feeling thwww.onedoor.ccat later, more carnal forms of merriment will follow, once the children are tucked safely away in their sleeping bags. There ...
Travelling with Strangers
The hills of the Meru mountains were arranged in an evenly manner such that the sky appeared to be a perfect white in the cloudy day. The dusty shoes on our feet had not only walked miles and miles with no rest, but they somehow knew that the journey we were on was still a long way from being complete. Our backs sweaty and our tongues dry we walked in a swarm of tan like color which was in a fashion common to that land, a matching brown to mimic the unforgiving desert like landscape. The leader a man of many ages, wore an extra layer of a turban like cloth on his head to protect further hair l...