Indian Folk Song

‘Oh come come, isn’t it obvious?’ Emma sat up straight again and thrust her absurdly proud breasts out, their rounded summits aiming up over Tom’s shoulders despite complete lack of support. ‘Surely the bouncy jiggles must have given the game away?’ Hands on rounded hips, she gave a practised burlesque shoulder-shimmy that sent her boobs into violent, careening trajectories that very nearly caused the neckline of the dress to snap clear of her budding nipples and disappear down around her stomach below. ‘But they’re so, they’re so…’ Tom became the latest in a growing series of men not to believe his eyes. ‘Firm?’ said Emma. ‘Pert?’ ‘So beautiful!’ whispered the instantly smitten lad. ‘Feel them if you don’t believe me.’ Emma was, yet again, crossing the boundary of what was socially responsible. She knew what she was doing was wrong, but it was giving her such a taboo thrill, this long-suppressed novelty of visceral sexual attraction. It was too much fun not to test its limits.. I got guinea hens. Their eggs weren't that big but they were edible. I fed them daily, watered them and planted bushes for them to sleep in. I sure did a little happy dance when they decided to stay in one of the orchards.I couldn't believe it. I found two big intermodal transport containers full of fifty gallon drums. They contained hard red wheat under dry nitrogen. They were still in the hulls, so they were intended to be seed. I had no idea if they'd sprout but they'd make ideal feed and bread flour. I brought the grain trailers back to the farm and started the next phase--I looked for grain mills. I had an idea on how to glean the hulls from the wheat but I'd need electrical power at the farm. I thought about how to do that.The harvest was pretty well over. I drove around with paper pouches and a crayon collecting seed for the next year.I didn't know if I'd find any cattle or goats on the hoof to butcher, but the fish were another story. I built a smoke-house to preserve my.
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