So we're at this fair and it's a lot of fun. Loud; lots to see; to do. Now and then a new butt to smell. Sometimes an unfinished sausage on the ground (I don't touch the hotdogs, gross - not to mention the name). It's even exciting to do something usual as in not exotic, something known as in not foreign, something, well, nostalgic. I mean, I've actually been to this sort of place before! As much as I like travelling (like my humans), sometimes it's good to chill at that vague "homeish" concept.
Anyhow, I was prancing along, enjoying myself when this bugger of a fly began to pick a fight. You know how flies can be: crude, rude and vulgar - not to mention their atrocious table manners (sure, I eat off the ground, but let's not be overly-sterile). I tried to be the bigger beast and ignore the buzz, but finally I snapped. You want to relax on vacation, right? The spirit of the wolf possessed me and I just went after the runt. Just had to.
Blimey disappeared on me by the eeriest, darkest tent. But I'm not so easily shaken off the trail, right: in I go. tumble really... not my most majestic entrance. But I did get a witch's attention. A witch's! I don't know if this was the transmogrified fly (have known stranger things to happen: Robbie to forget extra film, Tash to oversleep, Lori to miss a sale, and shhhh, Josh to burn the toast) but this dark-haired, colofully-eyed, cloth-bound, lewel-covered woman not only looed straight at me but started speaking nothing short of through a trance!
I normally have enough sense to skiddadle in situations like these. But she had me transfixed! So there I was listening to her jumbled words. I started to listen pretty closely when she began telling me not simply of my humans but of what I gathered to be our past lives. This was not a common fortune-teller but a channel to the distant past, a rare gift among conmen and fakes. A gem of a story weaver. Certain veracity, you see...
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