She captured it. The journey. The adventure. The race to freedom. Emerging from the canyons to the mountain. I watched, mesmerized, as this creature o... light and sand danced my story and then settled in my lap looking out over the desert.We camped at Navajo National Monument for nearly a week. It was amazing how little we said during that time.Of course, we had to stand on a corner in Winslow, Arizona. I actually let Angie drive the truck (without the trailer) down the street and open the door. “two tickets please” I say to a large gentleman standing inside this darkened foyer space. “two????” the man asks with surprise. “yes two” I say with confidence as I gain courage at the thought of watching some hot babe about to be fucked. “okay, two tickets it is, upstairs to the second floor, room number 26” the man describes. “thankyou” my wife giggles, grabbing the tickets before I can take a look for them. We walk up the stairs and along a grungy darkened corridor , I notice the majority. .. the concept that they could now explore this wonderful relationship without guilt. Each had preconceived notions about what would happen ... how things would work ... what the end result would be. Humans had created a term for this relationship: ménage á trois. These people, however, would have looked askance if someone would have told them that’s what they were doing. To them it was simply an attraction they could not resist, and so had decided to try to make work.But freedom from. —from The Collectors, by Philip Pullman, Author’s NoteChapter 11: It's Cold Here[September, 1678]Oxford, OxfordshireIT IS TOO fucking cold here, Amélie thought as she stepped through the mud down Oxford’s High Street. The mud was disgusting. It didn’t matter how careful one was, there was no way to keep it from sticking. And where are the fruits? A banana? Haven’t these people heard of a tomato? Or a mango? Meat. Bread. Onions. A carrot. A potato. That’s it. No wonder they look like ghosts..