Joe had moved the buggy past it when we arrived so we could get out without getting our shoes wet and muddy. I sent another nudge from the same spell ...hat insured that she slipped again landing on her back this time. Joe just stood there and looked at her in confusion as the now very muddy woman finally managed to move out of the puddle and stand before staggering off down the street where others were watching and then assisted her. I turned back to Mr. Winnelson who had watched what had. Just one more slug and I have options as the potent mixture dissipates. Keep my head or throw up; either way is an exit strategy. Spend some time chatting with him, or find Gemma, probably orphaned by her face-sucking housemates. Maybe dance. I'm feeling that buzz, inhibitions fading with each beat. That irrepressible need to sway to the music. It's something I can barely remember doing in my twenties, but it feels natural. Sensual. Something I should perhaps do more. Embrace life instead of. More

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