Exactly one hundred words of nonsense written for Friday Fictioneers.
One, two, here we go again. Up the track and back, counting sleepers as I go.
Sixty-one, sixty-two. This is where I pee on the wild strawberries. She doesn't see and always eats some coming back.
Hundred n’eighteen, hundred n’nineteen. Look, there’s mud on the back of her skirt. Can’t tell her, wouldn't if I could.
Three hundred n’six, three hundred n’seven. About turn. Three hundred n’six, three hundred n’five.
Here’s Rover. Don’t sniff him, he stinks. Personal hygiene problem.
Thirty-eight, thirty seven. Nearly finished.
Two, one, supper soon. Canned meat again.
Suppose we’ll do it all again tomorrow.