It's called a hongiAustralia spread out across a lawn chair; his arms and legs hanging off at ether sides. His brown hair was slicked back with two stubborn locks which stuck out; much like Austria's hair. The weather wasn't as hot as what he was used too in Brisbane but the Auckland summer was still pretty blistering so he was too tired too do anything productive.It's called a hongi2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He only wore a pair of board shorts which were still wet from the ocean; happy he didn't have too worry about being eaten by a shark or Crocs. The plaster across his nose was losing its stick at the edges and flapping up slightly.
He was alone at New Zealand's house because she had gone too a Marai. Her house was beautiful; the bizzare bird calls fulled the summer day as he lay half in the shade under a pohutukawa tree. It was his heaven.
He took another swig of beer and savored the bitter taste. He closed his eyes and imaged a beer filled pool. Beautiful woman in bikinis laughed and splashed him. It would make his day perfect.
The sound of a