The Downhill Rush
By Pinocchio Kombamwiko The forest held its breath as the hare, sleek and silver-tongued, gestured toward the TukTuk perched precariously on the ridge. “Why plod?” he declared, ears twitching with theatrical flair. “Why sweat beneath this cruel sun? Behold! The chariot of the modern age! Swift as an eagle’s dive, smooth as a moonlit glide.