She instantly regretted the decision she’d made in following Chuck out into the corn field. In a psychedelic haze it was an impossibility to distinguish him from the scarecrow, and the little hut where they’d fumbled previously, was threatening to eat her-whole.
‘No more tripping for me’ she sighed before passing out in the rain.
Written for one shoot Sunday over at one stop poetry
Today’s artwork provided by Sean McCormick