I will leave everything here he hasn't been well since he reached the beach. he said it was a sign. I asked him of what? he doesn't know, but definitely, it was a sign. he refused to drive now. he was worried about the tress, about the plastic in the oceans, and about he was not wake up In the bright yellow sunshine. he closed his eyes and hums every time we pass through the squashed rabbits or the mangled fox. sit was all blood and fur guts, when he grabbed my knee, he digs his claw nails deepen into my flesh. and he cried and cried just like a newborn baby does. he said another one, with still twitching, baking in the early evening sun. he said I would leave everything here, the valleys, the hills, the paths, the jaybirds from the gardens,
