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One sunday afternoon, as I walked through the convent orchard, a slightly "stalky" nun came dashing out the door. The wind caught her Habbit and blew it wistfully into the air, revealing the side of her hairy neck...Her age was starting to show, in the 85 year old silver, creaping towards her scalp. I picked up an apple off of the ground and took it to her, shining it on my dirty tee shirt, asking her if she'd like a bite. She gummed through her toothless smile that If I'd take it to the kitchen blender, she could have half, because a whole apple would loosen her bowel.....
thats all I have for now.
I'm working on a story about some Taliban Burka-nighty stories too!
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