I hear it somewhere behind me: a liquidy expulsive sound. I'm sitting on a patio inches from a sidewalk. Flinching, I'm unable to see through the shrub at my shoulder, but the origin of the noise slouches up the street, past my elbow, in all his denimed, tractor-capped glory.
"Sorry," he mutters.
Wild Wreckdom
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On the remote island of St. Kawkapuey lives the mysterious Cacapillar.
Often mistaken by tourists as monkey droppings, these sweet-smelling
carnivorous i...
8 hours ago
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