Que’ sera’ sera’ … Whatever will be will be… The future’s not mine to see, que’ sera’ sera’ what will be, will be.

The sign up ahead reads “last exit“… I should know, I’ve driven past it a thousand times, and now I get it. Frankie. Headlong to the slaughter we go. (door creaks as it slowly closes)

Wood, hay and stubble makes a good fire.

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