Tuesday, September 02, 2008

A Stroll Through The Old Country


Mick had wandered for miles and miles that crisp fall afternoon, with his trusty shilleleigh in hand and a fifth of scotch in flask. The time had come to search for his bride, a witty redhead with skin as creamy as milk and a laugh that rippled like the River Shannon. Yes, she had to be somewhere, probably in the tourist industry.

1 comment:

Lois said...

Mick never did understand the concept of camouflage.