A ten-year-old Amanda wandering around the sights and sounds of a carnival. Trying to take it all in as such an event was much larger than the backroads of isolated territory from whence she grew up. She could not imagine this many people assembled in one place. It was made more disturbing by the fact none of them seemed familiar. Short for her age, she wandered unnoticed among the crowds and began to feel the first stirrings of fear. The loud talk, the screaming children, the long lines of procession, along with the myriads of odors created a miasma that she wanted to flee. The laughter and the faux expressions of joy on the faces of people, took on the maroon tones of a nightmare. She could imagine underneath the laughter, were horrid screams about to erupt.

He finished his drink. 'I don__ like mornings either,' he said. __hat__ why I__ a writer.

I don__ know any writers who don__ drink.

The food we were given was no more than eatable, but the patron was not mean about drink; he allowed us two litres of wine a day each, knowing that if a plongeur is not given two litres he will steal three.

When you paint late at night, drinking beer or wine or both, you gotta be very careful to watch what you are doing...

Never underestimate the audacity of the small minded and slightly crapulous.A rather bleezed young neighbour decided to have a grammar battle with me. It lasted all of two seconds.I said something slightly amicable, and he responded with, __ou sure that's how you use that word?__ put down my laundry basket and turned to him slowly and deliberately.__o you really want to have this discussion with me, son, or do you want to go home and rethink your life?__e grumbled and vanished.