After finishing her half-hearted jumping jacks by the rear entrance of the Half-a-Hill recycling plant, Tiwara was ‘served’ with papers indicating her role in the “mud for boots scandal.” It was just then that the governor had brandished what he later called an amnesty-pennant, proclaiming that the thirty year old women was a secret fund raiser for the state, and deserved immunity for her minor role in the aforementioned scandal. No one knew exactly why bartering precious Mohawk Valley mud for low quality work boots was such a malodorous to-do.
Tiwara, unaware of her exoneration almost occurring simultaneously with the scowling cornering at the hands of the state paper server, held the hand of a stranger. This stranger was a long time, yet silent admirer of Tiwara. Though he had plumbed down to a rubbery floor of many an incoherent knotting of her unknown attributes and how she would respond to his ways; he could not bring himself to any emotional high or low ground. When her sweat mingled with his, his left ear almost deaf now for over twenty-four hours for the first time in his life, preoccupied him voraciously.