As the island was plum fulla tourists I decided to bee-bop outta there at the soonest opportunity and so it was to be, that before mama sun broke free from the sea in the East, my tent was rolled and packed and my tyres were breaking dew on the beach sand like Moses parting the sea. Over the bridge we rode into pine soup. The air thick and assailing the fibres in my nostrils, it bore bore scents so green it turned tadpoles to frogs. Cool as cucumbers too, and I croaked with joy, flicking my tongue out as if to catch moon moths, the space dust from their wings driving me ever southwards.

And into further swarms of humanity. Humanity on a beach holiday…ride on! Ride on frog-man on a bike!

But the human swarm was thick and this frog enjoyed it not that day, speeding, speeding as fast as his legs could carry him and his space-bike, zooming through this sweaty, coconut oil smelling asteroid belt of man, out from the thickness and danger of it all. Mach speed we engaged.

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