She was illusive. She was today. She was tomorrow. She was the faintest scent of a cactus flower, the flitting shadow of an elf owl. We did not know what to make of her. In our minds we tried to pin her to a corkboard like a butterfly, but the pin merely went through and away she flew 
The Bump and The Grindhttp://www.inquirer.net/vdo/player.php?vid=2236&pageID=1
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 Bizkit the Sleep Walking DogHe must be dog-tired. I wonder what do dogs dream about?
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