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Covered in Sheep droppings.
Cold.
Wet.
Rickity.
Every joint hurts.
Friends round for dinner.
My gawd they can talk.
I could give you my whole life's story in an hour.
Including the bits where I've been shot at.
They've spent 5 telling us about their goats.
The sky is crystal.
My scopes mock me.
I'm writing what may be my last words before I lose the will to live.
They think I'm buying farm supplies on e-bay.
A'dieu.
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