Kworky

I am somewhere in America. It is a green, deeply lush environment, all grassy fields, blooming trees and bushes with a humid, drizzly air. My brother-in-law and I are driving up a gently winding road admiring this (country)side. As we motor along we are searching (through our minds) for a house we visited years earlier. There are several coming up on our left and it is with a collective sadness, with genuine heavy hearts, that we find the house of our fond memories to be derelict, the clapper board abode collapsed in on itself. In fact it takes us some time to even realise it IS this house and when the truth finally dawns we suddenly become worried about the family who used to live there, about the two sons and the (most welcome and excellent!) pizza we shared there. There is a vintage bus out the back and the winding metal stair to the upper deck seems to confirm for sure we are in the right place-

We get talking to a neighbour(?) and we are delighted when he announces that the old owners are approaching – here come the two sons looking much older, heavier, their hair greying. They look quite 'simple' but greet us with warm, broad smiles and show us their portable market stall. I am tempted to buy a small elf outfit for a baby that retails at $7.99 but (in a move that I just cannot help but regret) I don't-