Toomataboomba a native Lupe galivants across the northen shore of mystic delight. His ambiguous feet clench the harsh ground like a first born on his first day of school. His rabid beauty radiates trepid justice, the clusters on his back are scars of un-told stories of the dune. Toomataboomba, knew only too well that a storm was mighty brewing......
The vicious tentacles that scaled his toes protruded with absolute delight. The miniscule specimen that lived on his cold nose curled as his spicy eyes flared.
He was waiting. Toomataboomba longed companionship, his decaying heart was slowly fading into a murkey shade of fresh vomit.
Will Toomatabooba find a friend?
Memories of gathered sundays bombarded his insinuated mind.. Toomataboomba's past graced his brain like a senior citizen. Liquid fluttered down his venomous cheecks, almost like midnight rain. He was hoping for more.
Like a prehistoric being, to embrace his individuality..
His nostrils flared like a wildfire ceasing the land of forgotten fruit (just before the harvest).
His trepid eyes enclosed dark entries of majestic souls trembling as the night progressed. Hark the Herald Angels Sing?