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Cufflinks For Gas

The style gurus - and the resume and career gurus - have always told us to “dress for success.” The plain truth is that we only get one chance to make a good first impression. Once that moment has passed, if you’ve not been successful in winning over your audience, you are going to have to work very hard to erase that unhappy first viewing.

Looking good can get you the right job, the beautiful spouse or girlfriend, the coolest friends.

But can it get you a ride?

Gas prices are nearing $5 a gallon, and airfares are climbing to rates we’ve not seen in years. With the rise in fuel costs, all products - ranging from tomatoes to tools - will increase in price. It simply costs more to get them to market.

So - how are you doing these days? Living well, or simply living? With tough times ahead for at least a little while, I urge you not to run ranting into the streets yelling about political candidates or dashing into banks and holding up innocent tellers. Instead, take a cue from famous deadbeats and hangers-on - Kato Kaelin and Kevin Federline come to mind, but there are many, many more. Simply look good, say and do the right thing, and surely, surely, someone will just “send a car around for you.”

Style ideas for those who need a ride:

1. Cravats: You don’t see many men wearing these today outside Cary Grant movies from the olden days, but I’m guessing that if there are two guys sitting on the side of the road waiting for a hitchhiking fan to pick them up, it’s more likely the guy in the cravat (I’m channeling Michael Caine in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels here) is going to get picked up than the guy in the jeans that would stand upright without him in them and the T-shirt that says “I eat drivers for breakfast.”

2. Spats: Who doesn’t love Fred Astaire? A pair of spats dresses up a pair of black shoes like nobody’s business, and can hide shoes that are unpolished, scuffed, or otherwise pointing out your down-on-your-luck status. In addition, if you haven’t been able to buy pants since Michael Jackson’s heyday, spats may be the only thing that will make it look like you really meant to have your pants be total high-waters. Surely getting a ride would be very easy for the twinkle-toes wearing a great pair of spats

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3. Top Hats: Again with the Fred Astaire. I say again - who doesn’t love Fred Astaire? A top hat indicates that not only may you have once attended a very, very posh event, but you may also have once been a head of state for a European nation. People generally go out of their way for royalty with or without a country - look at the movie Anastasia and how people bowed and scraped not even knowing whether this girl was the lost Grand Duchess, and at how the Middle East opened its arms wide for our fallen King of Pop, Michael Jackson. Certainly if they are willing to hand out houses and cars and grand duchies, they will give you a lift to the office.

4. Enameled Faberge Cigarette Case: Yes, I know. It’s not an item of apparel. However, it is a very classy accessory, and if you have a great story to tell with it: it was Dad’s and one of the few things you were able to smuggle out of the country when your family was deposed, or it was Prince Philip’s and he gave it to you in gratitude for your having a Bic lighter when he was dying for a ciggie…really, just any good story will do.

Except, no…none of this will work at all. A cravat will make you look like Thurston Howell III, spats will make you look ridiculous, a top hat is only acceptable with white-tie, and nobody smokes any more. In fact, flashing a cigarette case full of Marlboros may just get you whacked.

So instead, focus on looking great all the time. An elegantly cut suit, a tasteful tie knotted impeccably, flawless shoes polished to a high shine, and a crisp, well-tailored shirt will make people take notice of you. Add some cufflinks to the mix and you’re golden.

Cufflinks are a great way to add a little class to a simple ensemble. They can be very simple - ranging from the silk knot cufflinks, also known as monkey’s paws, to simple enameled discs - or very fancy mosaic or engraved cufflinks They can also be great conversation starters, as cufflinks are available now in every variety ranging from those that advertise our careers, our alma maters, and our hobbies.

A lot of the accessories that once “made the man” have become anachronisms. However, cufflinks - largely because they serve a real purpose in addition to being decorative - remain as popular as ever.

I’m guessing that a good pair of cufflinks will have people at the office clamoring to give you a ride. A really nice pair will get you upgraded to first class over the Bazillion Mile Flyers. And a really, really nice pair? Watch and see if it doesn’t get you an invite to fly on your new friend’s private jet.

Whether your interests are in silver, gold, artistic, sports, or other theme-related cufflinks we’ve got you covered. Cufflink Aficionado carries a broad range of unique men’s cufflinks designed to meet each connoisseur’s individual style and interest. Our selection of men’s designer cufflinks are sure to top off that perfect look.

Discovering Gnome Town USA

The Paulinskill Trail run was only 2 weeks away and I knew that I needed to get in at least 40 miles a day to stay in shape. This event drew hundreds of bicyclists from around the state each year. It was the one sport that I could still participate in after my hip was destroyed in an accident.

I completed my day’s workout and while peddling home, a strange sound shrieked from my back wheel. I looked back to assess the situation. In that brief moment of distraction, I unknowingly became entangled in a roadside hazard. A warning cone covered a gapping hole in the rode and stood as a warning to stay clear. However, my attentions were elsewhere and before it could register that I was in any danger, the front wheel caught the edge of the hole and flipped me off my bike. As I lay there on the grass and tried to shake off the abrupt end to my journey that day, I glanced over at the orange cone still standing over the hole. It seemed to be moving. I was convinced that my fall must have caused a slight dizziness or blurred vision.

Suddenly the earth opened up more and the hole became much larger. Several of those orange cones appeared and were moving about. I was no longer dizzy and my vision was fine, but couldn’t make sense of it. Cautiously, I walked over to the opening in the earth and stood at edge observing a mysterious phenomenon. The cones had simply vanished and the hole returned to its original size. I could not see anything out of the ordinary, but couldn’t help but imagine what was happening. Was this some sort of seismic activity? What caused the hole? Was this a prelude to something more disastrous to come? Why wasn’t anyone from the town concerned about what was happening?

The more I thought about it the more my curiosity needed to be satisfied. After much thought and many unsuccessful attempts to get any answers from the local police, I was suddenly struck by an idea that could help me with my dilemma. It was time to put together some sort of device so that I could do some surveillance. I went to an electronics store and purchased the smallest cellular phone. I found that the new phones worn on the ear fit my needs. Then I added a tiny camera with a super sensitive microphone. I set it up so that it would send a video feed to my computer where I could record everything. I added to my electronic contraption a special adhesive so that I could easily attach it to the cone.

I went back to the hole and noticed that one of the orange cones was now standing next to the hole. I attached my electronic contraption to the cone and then hurried back home to my computer so that I could watch the video feed. I was annoyed to see that the camera was not feeding video from the surroundings where I left the camera. Instead it was moving in a dark tunneling cavern. I was bewildered and could not understand how an animal could move the camera the way it was moving. In addition the noise that I was picking up did not indicate that it was a four-legged creature, but rather a two legged creature. For minutes that seemed like eternity I watched a video that was mystifying but offered no immediate answers.

Then suddenly the camera left the tunnel and appeared to enter a wide-open space. The space was still underground and the video was not very clear because the area was dark. I quickly adjusted the video feed so that I could brighten it up and then was treated to a sight that I did not expect.

Underground was a vibrant small town with garden Gnomes. Only these gnomes were alive! I always thought garden gnomes were a myth. But here there was an underground town with hundreds of them. And they all spoke English, although they seem to have a German accent and a few seem to have a Scandinavian accent.

Over the next several hours I was able to observe the garden gnomes and learned so much more about their way of life and habits. I learned that the name of the town was Gnome Town USA. Evidently the name was very popular and just about every US state has a Gnome Town USA. The name was popular with them just like towns with the name Lincoln or Washington.

The garden Gnomes are quiet creatures and prefer to keep to themselves for privacy reasons and for their safety. Garden Gnomes have many natural enemies and they were not looking to add the human race to the list, thus the need for their secrecy. Garden Gnomes are very communal and go out of their way to help each other. Many developed special skills like wood working, farming, shoe making, etc. Some garden gnomes do live topside but in secluded areas.

Garden Gnomes amuse themselves with the simplest things in life. They don’t put too much value on material things and prefer to just live comfortably. Garden Gnomes also live a long life that I believe can be attributed to the wisdom they have gained from previous generations.

I grew tired and fell asleep at the computer. I awoke with a headache. At first, I saw orange objects moving about, but was still somewhat in a dream state that I did not know what was happening. My vision was blurred. Then someone called out to me asking if I was okay. My eyes finally focused and I could see trees and several people around me. I had passed out from my fall. I realized then it was all a dream. I declined help and walked my bike the short distance home. I smiled thinking about the silly dream I had. Later that evening, out of curiosity I looked for the video feed on my computer. It was not there, as I knew it wouldn’t be. I googled Gnome Town USA and was amazed to find it listed on the search engines! Was I dreaming or was it real? Then I remembered their need for secrecy and turned off the computer.

Lawrence Ticotin is the proprietor for GnomeTownUSA.com, includes garden gnomes, garden fountains, Artificial Rocks.

A Character Analysis Of Hawthorne’s Young Goodman Brown

What created Goodman Brown? A man so tormented by what even he considered to be a dream that it changed his life in a profound negative way forever. Goodman Brown was man plagued by his own conscious; he was someone who believed himself to have committed grave sin by meeting with the devil and participating in a witches meeting in his dreams. This spoke of an era where people were overcome with religious guilt and superstition. As a result of Brown’s dream he suspected everyone in the town of being cohorts with the devil, in addition his superstition and questioning of his own self overcame his ability to trust or believe in anyone else. He died a bitter, unhappy, miserable man.

In order to fully understand the character of Young Goodman Brown we must first understand the era he comes from. Although Hawthorne does not state directly whether or not the plot of this story takes place in Salem in the seventeenth century, his references to other characters clearly imply it does. His references to Martha Carrier, Martha Cory, and Sarah Cloyse, all women hanged as witches in 1692; as well as his reference to King William who ruled England from 1650-1702 tell of this horrid time where people killed, tortured, burned, executed and suspected that everyone from their sister to there neighbor might be in contact with the devil. As a result of this environment of suspicion and paranoia Goodman might have felt as though his dream was in reality a lack of faith on his part. He may have felt so guilty for experiencing this dream that he thought he, as well as the people in his life were guilty of coercing with the devil.

Goodman Brown might have been Hawthorne’s expression of his own struggles with his faith in humanity and himself. Hawthorne was a guilt ridden person and I believe that he had many instances when his faith was tested. Brown is Hawthorne to a lesser extent. Goodman Brown starts out as a good, happy, decent man; he seems very content. All of this changes when he decides against the advice of his wife faith (the symbolism is obvious here) that he should go out on a journey into the woods to meet with the devil. I believe path in the woods to be his continued decent into metaphorical as well as literal darkness. As he continues down the woods he reaches the pinnacle of his journey when he comes upon the witches meeting. Once Brown reaches this point he loses his faith despite his last ditch effort to save his wife. He never knows if he was able to save her. This doubt is what destroyed him.

Brown’s motivation for meeting with the devil is never made absolutely clear and can only be speculated by the devil’s references to others that have come into his fold. He speaks of the King, Goodman’s father and grandfather, the deacon, minister and mayor. The devil makes it appear that everyone with any power, success or for that matter anyone that means anything to Goodman is in fact allied with Satan. Although Goodman resists the devils temptations at first; as more and more people are brought to his attention as being followers of the dark one, the idea becomes more acceptable. I believe Brown’s motivation to meet with the devil was power; he wanted an advantage over others to achieve his goals. This may have contributed to his last ditch effort to save faith when he shouted “Look up to Heaven, and resist the Wicked One”. When he arrived at the witches meeting he discovered that everyone already had the advantage of being on the wicked side and had already sold there souls for money, power, or prestige. He was able to see that nothing would put him ahead of anyone else by following through with his original task. He had nothing to win and everything to lose by making an alliance with the devil. Unfortunately for Young Goodman Brown it was too late for his soul to be saved. He reached the point of no return and not only didn’t he reap any benefit from his ordeal but lost every bit of happiness he previously possessed.

Goodman Brown was a man destroyed by his own obsession. He lived a miserable life as a result of the guilt he felt for embarking on a dark journey in his dreams; which resulted in his suspicion of everyone and a lack of trust for individuals in his community, himself and humanity. The only way Goodman Brown would have been able to save his faith would have been to never embark on the dark path.

John Schlismann has an interest in American Literature. To read Young Goodman Brown goto: http://www.online-literature.com/short.php/158

The Percherons New Home

Second in size only to Colonial Williamsburg, Old World Wisconsin in Eagle, WI offers a trip into Wisconsin history. Built in the tradition of Europe’s outdoor museums, Old World Wisconsin represents the material and cultural history of twelve ethnic groups on ten farmsteads. Sixty-nine historic buildings have been gathered from all parts of the state and reassembled throughout the 576 acres of land located in the southern unit of the Kettle Moraine State Forest.

Old World Wisconsin is home to three sets of driving teams. The newest Percheron pair, Patty and Pearl were purchased this April with help from the Friends of Old World Wisconsin. Patti, 7 years old, is a dappled grey and Pearl, mostly white with some dapples, is 8. Weighing in at 1750 pounds each, Patty and Pearl are heavy enough to be used for a variety of chores. Percherons date back to medieval times, when knights rode them into battle. They were chosen for the same reasons then as they are today, for their substance, beauty and style as well as their sheer power. Patty and Pearl will pull the Omnibus, an 1800’s style Wagonette - the first pull-bus in Milwaukee; and work the grain binder to cut grain or haul larger loads of hay. They will also occasionally be hitched to the museum’s historic mower, used in skidding logs and demonstrate the use of the Sawmill.

Bryan Zaeske, historic farmer for Old World Wisconsin, is very excited about the new team. “I like to think we have one of the best historic animal programs in the country,” commented Zaeske. He added that the program has one of the largest varieties of rare animal breeds on display. “The success of the farm program is due to the Friends,” he added. ”Our Omnibus, horse trailer, two teams of oxen, the horse powered treadmill, and much more was a direct result of the Friend’s generosity,” he said. The Friends also helped purchase new harnesses, formal driving attire including frock coats and top hats for drivers Zaeske and his assistant Tony Casper and an elegant four passenger vis-

An Analysis of the Birth-Mark by Nathaniel Hawthorne

As in all of Hawthorne’s writings when one finishes reading his stories you come up with more questions than answers. No other writer makes you question like Hawthorne. The philosophical question of what is true perfection and can it be achieved through physical means or is it a state of the spirit is the heart of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s story The Birth-Mark.

Aylmer, the main character of the story is a brilliant scientist/alchemist. He posses a belief in “man’s ultimate control over nature”, and thinks there is nothing man can’t master or achieve. His obsession with his wife’s small imperfect birth mark, which resembles a hand, begins shortly after they become married. Aylmer is fixated with his wife Georgiana’s perfection; he believes that in order for him to experience perfect love, he must have a perfect woman to love. His obsession gradually becomes Georgiana’s obsession at which point she becomes so distraught that she tells Aylmer “Remove this dreadful hand, or take my wretched life”. Aylmer sits down and tells his wife that there may be risk involved but he is confident that he shall remove the mark and his beautiful bride will be perfect in every way. He sets up comfortable surroundings for his wife described as “beautiful apartments, not unfit to be the secluded abode of a lovely woman”. After the alchemist attempts and fails numerous methods for removing the mark from his wife he develops a “perfect elixir” that will without a doubt cure her and make her completely perfect. He administers this elixir and to his great delight sees the cursed hand start to fade and disappear; only to have his wife tell him “Aylmer—dearest Aylmer—I am dying!”

Georgiana achieved perfection in Aylmer’s eyes in her dying moments; so did he Aylmer achieve what he set out to accomplish? I believe he did. Aylmer was a man who loved his work; he loved science more than he could ever love any human being. He was a man riddled with his inadequacies and imperfections, and as a result of his low view of himself, he demanded perfection in his wife. This is exhibited when Georgiana is reading out of his ledger which is described as a “sad confession, and continual exemplification, of the short-comings of the composite man”. Aylmer was a self serving individual whose only goal is to make his wife perfect for his own sake or perhaps for science’s sake. All these things being true; I do believe he loved Georgiana, and in his own bizarre way he wanted her to be perfect for her sake, because he believed that she deserved no less. In his quest for her perfection (which is impossible in the purely material sense) he destroyed her.

Aylmer’s wife Georgiana was at first a happy woman; married to someone she believed to be a great man, until one day her husband tells her that the mark upon her cheek might be removed. This of course is the beginning of her as well as her husband’s obsession with removing her one imperfection. The first thing that stuck out in my mind about Georgiana was her undying love, loyalty and desire to please her husband. This was very much a mark of the time. The fact that she would rather die than meet his disapproval I found significant. She seemed to me, to be the ultimate exemplification of love and unselfishness, to an insane level, which is exhibited in the line “You have aimed loftily! – You have done nobly! Do not repent, that, with so high and pure a feeling, you have rejected the best earth could offer.” Georgiana does not feel ill towards her husband because she believes his feelings to be those of pure love.

The Birthmark touches on similar themes as Marry Shelly’s Frankenstein in the idea that humans can possess a supernatural power to undo and make perfect what is imperfect. Aylmer does not believe in God or the natural laws he created, which is obvious by his belief in man’s ultimate control over nature. God created man as a part of nature and we are not above nature but integrated with it. Just as today we are fighting the ethical issues of an increased understanding of science versus what we know to be natural law. Hawthorne’s story The Birth Mark is just as relevant today as it was when written in 1843 if not more so. Today we are struggling with issues such as cloning, stem cell research and other aspects of science that seem in contradiction with God’s and nature’s laws. If confronted with the modern day issues we now face Hawthorne’s opinions would probably be the same as he has set forth in this short story; that when man tries to accomplish what he was not intended to accomplish disaster will be the ultimate result. The hand was not only a birthmark but an integral part of Georgiana’s soul, and removing this mark in the quest for perfection was her demise.

Hawthorne is telling us that humanity is imperfect, there is no perfection in the physical sense, and the only way to achieve perfection is through the spirit in death. The Christian parallel is clear here; none of us are perfect and the only way to become perfect is to become one with God, in death, which results in our going to heaven. This goes back to what makes us who we are; we are not pure flesh and blood, our psyches and our true selves go so much further beyond that.

Nathaniel Hawthorne’s short story The Birth Mark touches on philosophical and ethical issues valid in his time, as well as ours. His work makes us think about what is perfection and is it desirable in the physical state. In the end we discover that if we overstep our bounds and try to make perfect that which is imperfect, death will be the final result, for only in death through God, can we achieve perfection.

John Schlismann has an interest in American Literature. To read the Birthmark goto: http://www.online-literature.com/hawthorne/125/

The Strangest Breakfast

I woke up groaning, drum beating painfully inside my head. Tongue thick and dry, body drained - not unusual for a Saturday morning.

I wanted to return to my dreams, but imagined I smelt coffee. Thirst winning; I dragged myself out of bed. Donned my threadbare maroon toweling robe, pushed my feet into my old-flapping carpet slippers and set off to investigate the unexpected aroma.

My dizzy descent downstairs was torturous, each step making my head pound. The smell of freshly ground coffee driving me on - more attractive than the stale ale surrounding me.

Normality fled as I opened the kitchen door. My stomach rumbled a hungry greeting at the welcome odour of cooking food - but how? What the hell had I been up to last night?

“Morning Louise, your breakfast is ready.”

Astonished to hear a woman’s voice, my head snapped round. The drums started up again, beating a painful tattoo on my brain. My eyes opened wide in disbelief at the odd sight before them.

There they were, sitting at my kitchen table: A plump, motherly type wearing a frilly apron - as yellow as her peroxide curls.

Opposite her, a man - small, balding and mean looking. Dressed in an old-fashioned white collarless shirt, black braces over the top.

Next to him a boy, gap-toothed and freckle faced. Head crowned with a mass of wavy ginger hair - clashing discordantly with his purple checked shirt.

All 3 looking at me expectantly - or were they? Confused, I glanced over my shoulder - nobody. I studied the room, yes it was my kitchen - unusually clean and tidy, but mine. I didn’t understand.

“Who?” I started to ask.

Fell silent, shocked to see the man swat the boy’s ear with the back of his hand, saying “Stop messing with your breakfast Jimmy.”

The woman calmly picked up a knife and carved a thick slice of bread from a crusty loaf. Who were they? She looked at me again, knife pointing towards me. Being a coward I decided to retreat.

“Where are you going Louise?” The woman waved the lethally sharp knife at me. I took another step backwards. “Get in here and eat your breakfast.” she ordered.

Bemused, I tried to put them right. “I’m not….” Didn’t get a chance to say any more.

“Do as your mother tells you Louise.” The little man thundered, starting up the drums again.

Exasperated, I ran my fingers through my uncombed hair. “She’s not…”

“Stop arguing young lady, you’re not too old to put over my knee,” He said as he clouted the lad’s ear again, presumably for laughing at me. The boy’s face screwed up in pain, mouth popped open emitting an unearthly wail. To be silenced abruptly as the despotic little man said menacingly. “JIMMY”

Angrily, I approached the table, ready to eject the strange trio from my house, “How dare you behave?”

Was interrupted again. “Sit down Louise - NOW!” His rodent like face red with fury.

With a kind of languid helplessness I obeyed, sitting down opposite Jimmy. The boy winked at me conspiratorially as mother put a plate in front of me.

“Here you are Louise, eat it while it’s hot.” She smiled warmly at me. Grateful to have two allies I eyed the steaming plateful greedily.

Eggs - sunny-side up, well-browned sausages, bacon and kidneys. Golden fried bread, mushrooms and tomatoes - a feast to tempt anyone but the strictest dieter or vegetarian.

But was it real? Only one way to find out!

Pass the sauce please Jimmy.” I requested. He handed the bottle over nicely enough, then the little brat kicked my shin. Glaring, I kicked him back, missed his leg, stubbed my toe on the chair leg. “Ouch.” I yelped.

“What’s going on?” Father asked.

“She kicked me.” “He kicked me.” Jimmy and I said simultaneously, conspiracy over,

“Behave yourselves, both of you.” He warned as Jimmy started to whine. “Eat, your mother went to a lot of trouble to make this lovely breakfast. Think of all the starving children who would be grateful for a meal like this.”

Feeling ashamed, I applied myself to my food. Picked up the ketchup bottle, turned it upside down, banged the bottom. Red goo gushed out, covering the mushrooms.

“Louise.” The obnoxious man shouted, snatching the sauce bottle from me. “How many times do I have to tell you? Go easy on the sauce - God knows what your insides are like!”

“Rotting away.” Jimmy chimed in, enjoying my discomfort - SWAT. It was my turn to gloat. I smirked before taking a bite of sausage.

“Bread Louise?” Mother offered me a doorstop plastered with butter.

“Yes please.” I accepted, content to be Louise for the sake of the tasty grub.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” The man bellowed. Never have I detested anybody as much as I did him. Angry words formed in my mind, I looked at him fiercely.

I couldn’t believe it - he actually slapped my hand. Knocked the fork out of it. On to my lap it fell, sauce covered mushroom dislodged, leaving a red trail as it rolled off my knee.

“Messy girl.” He blamed me. Furious, I was just about to stab his hand with my newly retrieved fork. Changed my mind as he threatened to swipe Jimmy again. “Stop laughing at your sister, eat your breakfast—I won’t warn you two again.”

Chastened we turned our attention to our plates.

“Tea Louise?” The woman asked, seemingly unconcerned at the violent atmosphere.

“I’d rather have coffee.” I replied, eying the percolator.

“You know you’re not allowed coffee Louise, you’re far too young.” The nasty little man interfered. Who did he think he was? How dare he order me around in my house?

Indignant, I opened my mouth to tell him to get lost - the wrong words came out. “Okay then tea it is.” I said weakly.

“Manners Louise.” He picked on me again.

“Please.” I added quickly, at seeing his hand twitch. Accepting the tea, I was careful to say thank you.

Enjoying the soothing effect the milky drink had on my dry throat, I was amazed to hear mother say - ”Put your blue dress on today Louise, it’s your ballet lesson this morning.”

I couldn’t help laughing. It was all very well pretending to be the unknown Louise for the sake of a scrumptious breakfast. Feeling the stubble on my chin, picturing my six foot tall, slightly overweight thirty year old body dressed in a blue frock, ridiculous. Even funnier to my eyes - ballet dancing, I just cracked up.

Thwack. My headache returned with excruciating speed. Fuming, I stood up, fists clenched.

“Sit down Louise,” He roared. “Manners, you ask to leave the table in this house.”

Deflated, I sat down, couldn’t believe I was hearing myself ask. “Please may I leave the table?”

Given permission, I slinked out of the room.

Upstairs, I washed and shaved. Was pleased to see me - Jonathon Ridley in the mirror and not Louise. I was relieved to find blue jeans in the wardrobe - no blue dress.

Once clothed, I went back downstairs, opened the kitchen door tentatively. Almost jumped with joy, no trace of them or the breakfast remains. Only the disorder left from the night before: Flies buzzing round empty cartons. Curry stains on the red-checked table cloth. Overflowing ashtray, surrounded by empty beer cans.

I must have been hallucinating - but why did I feel so well fed? Why was there a red sauce stain on my robe? Why did my ear hurt? Questions I’ve asked myself many times since. I don’t know what really happened - just hope it never happens again!

Patricia Jones has been writing from an early age. You can find more of her work on The Creative Writer, Writing For Money and on the travel information site Articles Abroad