Isn't it great, the feeling?

"When do we leave?' "Tommorow at noon. Come aboard and i'll show you about, get the feel of the thing" "Sounds good". Paul uttered aware of his anxious voice. There was never an easy way to return to a place where memories are omnipresent and even the forgotten friends know all those chessnuts of your past. The day was humid as hell. 77 farenheight and still sweating even after sundown. Sitting comfortably detached from his inhibitions Paul wondered what might be expected of his emotions after such a long absence. The feeling. Oh yes. If you're lucky it grows and gives you the excitations and even a sense of peace and happiness to stand on, but he just felt melancholy. Sitting in a long and dilated time on earth he flicked his eyes at the setting sun and a fleet of jet-planes scorching golden streaks of dusk in the sky. "C'mon you prick"! Startled Paul flicked his head around to see what bugger had caused him such alarm. It was Duncan- the scarred & hen-pecked old game-keeper from Zaire. You'd never guess it though for he sounded as if he hailed from the Netherlands. "If you' on for this endeavor you better git ya head out the clouds man, we gotta long day ahead of us"
The End

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