His home, the home of his childhood, small and remote, standing in a cleft of the undulating hills, just as it always had, just as it always would, he...supposed. White washed walls and red tiled roof welcomed him back.Nothing different, nothing changed.The gate was still swinging in a lazy arc, faintly creaking, the noise being carried on the breeze that always came up the valley. The same breeze as always, that brought the tang of salt from the briny channel, a mile on the other side of the. I heard voices off in the distance and I dove into ahigh patch of grass and rolled far enough into theundergrowth so as not to be seen. The voices were oftwo young boys from the neighborhood whom I recognisedand thought were kinda cute. One of them said he wasthirsty and needed a drink from the stream. After theyrode their bikes to the streambed I heard one of themshout "gross someone pissed and jerked off on the rockwall!" The other went to take a look as I peeredthrough the tall grass. I was. More

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