Every year there was a festival in honour of Van Gogh. As part of this there was a prominent local music festival that we'd (two other bands and yours...truly) been booked to play. It was a two night thing that promised to be quite an attraction. Several French music celebrities were touted to appear. It was rumoured that even the great Johnny Hallyday could make an appearance. Hallyday was apparently making a film not too far away and it was whispered he'd even made several visits to Arles. This shit that I've stirred up. Okay?" You two take the fucking cake, do you know that? Shit, brother and sister, and you're busy fucking each other! I suppose you're thinking of moving in with him, too! Wouldn't that be the end-all, be-all?" I already have," Tandra confessed, still fighting to keep her voice low and unthreatening. "Mom and Dad wanted us to split an apartment while I go to college. I guess I fibbed earlier, because I'm enrolling this year in first-year English with a full. How soft it would be, so welcoming and inviting. My breath would catch itself, coming only in short ragged bursts, leaving my mouth to work wordlessly in disharmony with my brain as it processed such carnal delights. Would her heart beat faster? Surely not as hastily as mines. I dreamed that my heart would pummel forever louder and faster in my chest, maintaining a menacing tempo to my desire, as if by beating all the louder it would somehow drown out the rising tide of illicit desire rising. ‘He’s not from my people.’ The men of her tribe kept their faces shaved, but this man’s beard was flecked with grey, his hair hanging loose past his shoulders. His clothes seemed familiar, but his deerskin was dyed green and underneath she could see a cloth shirt nestling against his skin. His eyes were shaded by the broad brimmed hat he wore. She knew enough of strangers not to seek his gaze, lest it give him power over her before she set her own protection. ‘Why is he here?’ She made no move.