పన్నెండవ జూలై రెండు వేల పదిహేడు

There are people standing on the hills. Standing perfectly still. Watching. Pale white people in long white floating robes. Motionless watchers on the hills. A fool on the hill? I drove all night but I didn't get a step closer to where I was going to. Are they real people? Do I always have to question everything? The people look like storks to me, long-legged wading birds with white and black plumage. White at the tops, black at the bottoms. And uh... those red legs. Tonight on the foggy hills they look more like birds of prey scanning the surroundings for... well... prey ready to attack and to sink their sharp beaks deep into innocent flesh. Beware little rabbits and mice! The watchers are watching you! The whaters are whating you and me...