The Porch:


This is the kind of place that you could never purge from your childhood
memory.  You smell the vegetation in the summer breeze.  You hear faint
thunder in the background from a storm that is a few hours off.  You are
momentarily distracted by the train whistle that unfortunately brings you
into the human type eleventh hour.  As you swing on the porch you gradually
forget what time it is as the train echo subsides and the crickets begin
to chirp.

Exits are:  Farm House

You're alone here

The room is set to public

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