Jimmy sat on the pathway directly adjacent to the entrance of the home cavern.
Much like an ancient Greek statue, he had his hand curled below his chin, thinking.
The beauties of the grasslands looked like a blur to him, as he didn't bother to pay attention to it.
His train of thoughts had three wagons. One wagon was dedicated to the aliens, the bunker, and the potential bomb that might blow them off of the mountainside.
The second wagon, dotted with an equal amount of malice as the prior, was focused on the enemy, and his recent plan regarding the enemy. He was hoping that it would work.
The third wagon was philosophical, hence the unintentional stance.
'What will I do after the war is over?' He thought, 'Unless I willingly choose to put myself in danger by going to the underworld, life will be very boring. What am I supposed to do for fifty-sixty years? Fuck everyday, and make a hundred kids?'
