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[his mischievous little sun-like sphere has switched on again, showing him sitting comfortably up in a tree bordering the vast field of blooming flowers. he's left his brown coat and suit jacket down on the ground, carelessly discarded, and anyone who happens to come by will see his tan trainers with socks sticking out of them lying haphazardly at the tree's base. one leg draped lazily over the side of the branch, his naked toes wiggling occasionally in the air. he's not really paying attention to much other than the delicate, glass-like butterflies resting on his fingers and fluttering all around him.]

[he feels very Huck Finn--or Tom Sawyer, he always confused the two--with not a care in the world. the content, peaceful look on his face tells the same story.]