Eloise hoisted open the flimsy door and paused on the threshold, screwing up her nose and holding onto the urge to vomit. Somebody already had, it seemed, and she surveyed the cramped and stinking landscape with a tactical eye. How to accomplish the necessary without acquiring more sewage than she was hoping to leave behind? Not for the first time, Eloise wished Glastonbury had a Business Class section.
©suzanne conboy-hill 2009