More Short Stories by Cro Jones

 

The sunlight began to crest the hill, painting the farm with golden mist.  A farm I had finally bought with my beloved.  The moisture from the night before hung thick in the air and the grass glistened with dew.  The animals started to stir with the morning, turning circles in their stables.  A cow farted.  I threw up.  We had finally made it.

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