Mood:
party time!Topic: "Hotel Plimhimmon"(9)
In the land that used-to-be but never was, the Hobbit and the Fellowship learned that failure to impress best took place beneath the sun and upon the sand. The beach afforded them the opportunity to wash away their pain in the surf. Later they could stroll the boardwalk, and sneer at the tight little butts that continued walking, in the other direction. Eventually they'd split a six-pack of tall boys and consume English's Chicken boxes, each of which fed "10-12 hungry people."
Frodo thought about those immortal days of yesteryear while straining against the leashes of Dandy and Tess. Sam walked head down, in search of protective armor which once offered relative safety to indistinguishable living creatures. The empty vacation beaches are a marvel unto themselves, but Frodo actually thought he heard the Drifters talking about hot dogs and french fries, out of the sun. Rubbing his eyes he was startled by the long porch and the thousands of rocking chairs peopled by those who contentedly rocked hour upon hour in Frodo's memory.
How the Fellowship laughed at the thought of rocking the days away on the porch of the Plimhimmon. There were waves to catch, tans to develop, subs to consume, and girls everywhere. How droll they thought, that even a single moment would be spent in a wooden rocking chair in the shade no less. Never once did any think of the day that would inevitably come when they might actually seek one for themselves.
This would not be such a day for Frodo. The hotel disappeared in the mist, and Dandy found something gross upon which to roll, while Tess decided that it actually looked tasty. Sam added the thirty-fifth empty scallop shell to the collection, and Frodo looked out to sea.
From the park he could hear a carousel. He wished.
accident prone
don't ask
incredulous
quizzical
irritated
celebratory
lucky
cool
caffeinated