THE NORTH RIDING PROJECT

We stole up the lane most Sundays to see her skinny-dip out of the lake like Ursula-fucking-Undress.  She swore her sun-glittered skin and deep moss-pool eyes were descended from gypsies, and tthat just as soon as she’d saved enough of our five-pound fees she planned on heading out in her own little caravanette and to live off the lie of the land.  There was no red-blooded boy in those bushes wasn’t willing to accelerate her aim of getting back to nature.

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