And so they went to Fridge Henge. The winds had been strong that year, and there were but a few pieces of henge left standing--relics, boldly defiant to the inevitable. The sky was confused: pelt the travelers with fist-sized hunks of ice, or saturate them with rays so viscous time itself moves at half-speed. They wore sun glasses, but kept jackets handy. They had been killing weeds all morning--satisfying so be sure--but they needed more.
