"Nothing Gypsy. I just don't want to ever forget what you look like. Your eyes, your lips, your beautiful face." I said, stealing the kiss amid her we...k protest. Gypsy's eyes glassed over and she hid her tears as she leaned her head on my shoulder. She wrapped her arms around my neck and held me tightly as her tears trickled down my neck. She gently ran her nails through my hair. I ran my hands over her in the most non-sexual, caring way a young guy could muster. I held her tight as she wept. In fiction and for Mitch’s benefit, this tribe exists. In fact this tribe bares no resemblance to any Native Indian tribe either in America or Canada.) If you look on any map you will never find Summer Canyon. Its name has been passed down from generation to generation, and even when map makers came they looked and called it something else then went away. Those that live in the area have never called it by any other name than Summer Canyon. If you talked to the elders of the tribes perched on. She was obviously pretty fine. Even at forty her body was still in incredible shape, a narrow waist, wide hips and a pair of gorgeous big firm breasts that she loved to show off with plunging necklines. There was barely a trace of hair in her long auburn tresses and a spark of youthful fun in her bright blue eyes. Indeed, if you had not been aware that she was a mother in her forties, you could easily have pegged her for a woman over a decade younger.Her fun, friendly and, frankly, flirty. "He looked at her with his colourless eyes, he didn't appear to be a person who did anything fast, stood as if to do as she instructed, and wandered out the door closing it behind him again, not saying a word, with little expression on his face outside a small, almost invisible smile on his sundried, regularly split thin lips.This was the second day of University registrations this year. It should be so busy at the moment you can't move in here with young people standing in lines and in small.