De sobte, vint segons n'hi ha prou, les cases

De sobte, vint segons n'hi ha prou, les cases vénen a runes, els vidres a mil trossos, les voreres netes de brutícia inversemblant. El de cel blau a marró; la veu a silenci.

Greg awoke the next morning, dew-covered and alone. That which he saw last night in the sky was now gone. The whole world was silent. Then he heard a pulsing hum.

And felt the ground. Slowly open. Beneath him. Helplessly, he descended into darkness as the slot through which he had fallen closed above his head. Greg wished he had some biscuit

s that he actually liked on him like custard creams or ginger nuts. But he was encased in the plutonic nether regions with a pocketful of garibaldis. Greg nibbled on one & choked

back a tear thinking about how his Sara had loved garibaldis. Which of course, made him think about Xmas '09 and that tender moment by the Russian tea cakes. No, he'd not cry

over that lost love, even as the tune of "Last Christmas" started to play in his mind and a melancholy nostalgia set over him. Oh why did Sara have to leave him?

There was nothing he did wrong. Sara must have done something bad. And he knows it. He can feel that is why she left him. The cold sorrow is upon him and he must find out what

to do with the rest of his life. He thought about moving somewhere far away from Sara, and looked for a new job. In the end though, he adopted a puppy and named it

Sara, hoping that the dog would prove a more loyal companion than "his" woman. The canine Sara, however, was a mean-tempered bitch & eventually he abandoned her deep in the woods.