![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Robin perched on the back of the bench, knapsack below him on the actual seat, strumming his banjo. He could barely contain his excitement. He liked his teachers and friends here in the swamps, but going to a boarding school up in Virginia had the irrisistable air of adventure to a young, small town frog.
Subtly infiltrating his attention, a different style of music approached. His eyes lit up as he recognized the distinctive style. Even more so when a garishly painted bus pulled to a stop by the bench, and the door opened, spilling the familiar tones of the Electric Mayhem into the still, Florida spring air.
"All aboard for the Mason Dixon Line!" Dr. Teeth cackled.
This trip just kept getting better and better.
Subtly infiltrating his attention, a different style of music approached. His eyes lit up as he recognized the distinctive style. Even more so when a garishly painted bus pulled to a stop by the bench, and the door opened, spilling the familiar tones of the Electric Mayhem into the still, Florida spring air.
"All aboard for the Mason Dixon Line!" Dr. Teeth cackled.
This trip just kept getting better and better.
