So there I was…
barechested, shoulder-pressing an upside-down, rusty wheelbarrow. Striding across the farmyard in a windy gale, a spittles of lukewarm moisture crashing dusty deaths like the tears of a kamikaze, nary even a dark spot to mark the remains. It’s beyond dry out here. Clad in my best pair of professionally-personalized, amatuerly-altered custom jorts, Powercat Purple Nike’s …