Horrible Horace and the Slug

One wonderfully damp and drizzly cold morning, a slug called Reilly wandered away from the confines, the safety of his garden. Sliming his way under the garden gate, he pointed his stalked eyes, one in each direction, along the busy street outside, wondering which way to go. “This is indeed a fine place to begin my travels,” he said to himself. “To think I might have spent the rest of my life, all seventy-five weeks of it, in that dull and ever so boring old garden.”
Being left-handed, Reill...