An elderly turtle saddled himself in his chromed out she’ll and wandered the road thinking, ‘shall I go up the road, or down?” Turning the ignition his heart beats faster as he turns about looking for a sign to point him in a direction. He was too consumed by the question, “up or down the road,” he didn’t look up when the Raven asked him, “how do you do sir turtle?” Nor, did he avert his gaze as the Raven flew off on a huff, believing himself the victim of a cruel injustice to be completely ignored by a lost tortious, or was it a turtle, the Raven questioned himself. Flying high in the sky towards a never setting sun over the moore, yearning for a morrow which mournfully will never break Dawn. A neverending moonlit neverland of adventure.