The door closed but still the distant sirens penetrate while the wall hardly muffles the anger and yelling and screams from a nearby TV. The small screen glows softly before me and two fingers hunt letters on the keyboard. Slowly the words grow and I find myself sitting around the glowing embers of the cooking fire, watching the crimson glow shimmer as the gentle breeze plays over the coals, while the first stars begin to shine above and the tall pines rustle behind. Sara is making the only loud sound, stories of today's events made epic as only she can. The other women half listening, the horses close behind them waiting their turn at the fire.
The words grow and grow. Story after story. Adventure after adventure.