Cold souls running — jumping about like calves in an krall just outside the watching window. In this fantasy, be afraid, I just bought a house dangerously close to a national park. I want to say Elizabeth but haven’t had the best of experiences dealing with either. My neighbours – both Bwambales BTW came around earlier today each talking about the equal importance of what we was doing. Whatever that is. I’m assuming it’s because my fiancee – Liz, couldn’t have been any taller in those hide imported sandals she’s made habitat. An issue to never be discussed, turns out.
Anyhoo, just hours ago on a return journey from the Lounge,(which BTW is also hours away) we saw what seemed like a hook where such things all prey would hang underneath this humongous acacia tree in our own backyard. We intend to turn it into a swing. Nice and high enough for adults as well. Bwambale (A) (for identification) was just here to invite us for our first neighbourhood hunt. Stressed how important it was to have us our first kill and offered to trade arrows if it even gets to that … dropped in on us as we were having dinner, wearing nothing but a ball sack, a quiver and bow — what a lad!
Bwambale (B) (Also for identification) a retired prison guard and elder there tried to convince me to do two things: marry Liz — “appears in camouflage and a bush helmet, carrying a bow and arrow” and get a hunting license to help him shoot some of the elephants. I thanked him but did not marry, and as for the hunting license, we prefer watching the elephants eat apples from the trees in the meadow and shag the hell out of each other, nude, documenting the entire thing … you could even say we prefer the elephants to some of our neighbors.
The elephants don’t bother us — not like these cold souls do.