Created: Sunday, 29 September 2002 Written by CorrespondentTheo slumped back against the station. Had her on auto pilot. Wishin' a sweet senorita could bear him a while. Next to these hills ain't very much else. Sun hangin' low, ants chompin' away. Bearin' him by the seat of his pants. One thousand times a day. Ear covered with hat. See those bent cacti.