Reuben’s Trabel Journal – Entry #12

Location: Country road to Paris
Date: Sunny, grape-scented

Dear Journal,

After the whole castle-catapult-moat-singeing situation (which eberyone swears they’re not going to bring up again, but Dougie still smells faintly toasted), we made our way down the hill and met the farmer Dougie accidentally grape-bombed during the balloon ride.

Good news: he wasn’t mad! In fact, he said it was the best “top-shelf sky snack” he’d eber received. He was so nice (and because our Vespa isn’t exactly built for cross-country trabel), he offered us his little red truck to get to Paris.

We could’ve all squished into the cab, but Dougie and I called dibs on the back. Best. Decision. Eber. There’s just something magical about bumping down a country road wiff the wind in your whiskers and the sky wide open abobe you.

We watched the hills roll past, golden fields wabing in the breeze. We shared jokes, half a baguette, and a berrry squishy cheese. We wabed at cows and cyclists and one berry confused goose. For a little while, we didn’t talk about what was next. We just were — just two friends in the back ob a truck, grateful and grubby and full ob stories and secrets.

It was one ob those moments you tuck away in your heart and carry wiff you foreber.

Paris is just over the hill.

—Reuben xoxo