He leaned forward real big tities, and turned on the radio.
He tuned it through all the different radio stations, most of them broadcast in different native languages, until he found an English language one playing Western music.
Out trilled some Country music, of which Albert was real big tities rather fond.
He enjoyed those mournful tunes with their lyrics real big tities of lost love and quiet despair.
This was an America he could understand.
Not one that revelled in excesses of godlessness.
Hannah was clearly not enjoying the Country songs as much as Albert.
But real big tities she real big tities was too polite to complain, and fixed her gaze through the dusty window at the plains beyond, steadily chewing her gum.
real big tities
"So, why have you come to Africa? And by yourself?" he asked after long last.
"Writers Block!" She replied.
"Writers Block?" wondered Albert, unsure whether this was some illness peculiar to California.
"But why come to Africa then real big tities?" wondered Albert.
"I don see the connection. Although this continent is famous for many things, poetry is, unfortunately real big tities, not one of them." Nor, he almost added, was sex poetry.
Perhaps, thought Albert, her profession might be part of the reason.
That and her immodesty and strange views.
He continued driving along the broken roads, the sun glancing through the open window onto his arms and onto the sharp crease of his smart brown cotton shirt.
Even with his dark glasses on, the glare of the sun sometimes made it difficult to see too well.
Hannah had put on her own sunglasses, which, unlike his, were small and metal-framed.
She smiled at him, and then without warning she started coughing.
And coughing.
Big wheezing coughs that quite frankly worried Albert.
He wasn sure whether he should stop the jeep.
