She. Her. The girl. For what would it be without one. As soaked as me. Ahead. Bolder, one must admit with a sense of chagrin. Younger, it must be said...because everything counts and nothing does. Lovely and perfect regardless.The tent lies ahead, reaching into the sky, circusy and colourful, striped, slanted, big. The edges turned up slightly, bulging down and arcing up, water collected in the distended material, water balloons sighing with envy. She glances back at me, catching my gaze for a. The few of the surviving returnees, and most of their sons, amounting to about twenty men in all, which included the mayor and all the judiciary, put the complete story down on paper. They had it printed during that day, then the twenty entered the town hall. The remainder of The Hand of Man, that is every male over the age of fifteen in the town, stood at attention outside in the street. As the twenty walked, marched, limped in their old age and infirmities, to the lectern, they passed bundles. More

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