Gabrielle Oak crinkled his noseas the acrid smell of alcohol stirred his olfactory senses to a pleasurablestate. His already wrinkled forehead furrowed even further like the tracks oftires on a muddy roadside adding character and perseverance to his personality.Perspiration drenched these indentations generously spreading to his distinctcrow’s-feet between his diminishing cheekbone and drooping eyelids.
He gulped down the spiced rum, closed his eyes tightly overit until color rose on his face spreading like an artist’s brush soaked inwater. He loved every bit of warmth that was now rushing right from his gut tothe very tip of his fingers. He smacked his wet pink lips reminding theonlooker of an overgrown piglet. Farmer Oak felt confident after three pegs.
“I love them bullions Martha, a full bodied spirit is what Ilike” he guffawed.
He became unusually jolly when he had a peg too many. His wife busied herself with the needlework. After being married to the same person for twenty years it did not matter whether the conversation was one sided, it never felt awkward.
“Tomorrow I need to look at those shearing machines they got; new technology the boys say, but I gotta teach them the old ways, you could never trust these machines alone you see.” Then he went on to give a full blown lecture on how to shear sheep the right way.
“Hmm hmm.” Martha nodded as usual.