by George Anderson Jamming the hand-brake on the steep hill Big Al grunts for a boulder “Slip it under the wheel, just in case.’ Snobs shouldn’t have picked up that rock on the side of the blue metal road- a six foot black belly black snake slithers out seething, rearing its shiny black brut of a head. ‘Watchit!’ someone yells The snake racing between Snob’s outstretched legs ‘That’s a big motha fukka,’ he exclaims. That night we sleep in the commune’s bio-dome four of us: Snobs Big Al Crowbar me In the tar of night rats forage at our heads sniffing, taking swipes at our gear. ‘Told you to bring the flashlight,’ Big Al snarls. In the morning we stroll thru a paddock to absorb some beautiful rays. ‘Me foot’s itchy’, Crowbar moans. He removes his socks there’s about 20 bloated leeches sucking him dry.` ‘Anyone bring the salt, man?’ he wails.