...oh, the cherished memories of pre-teen summers' past...the freedom...the adventure...the self-discovery...the sense of reckless curiosity...riding that fine line between daring and dangerous. For myself, such adventure included braving and exploring the dry, barren landswells, which made up the Southern California Pomona hillside, near where I once resided, in my youth...regretfully, now overrun by generic, Stepford village trac-housing. Me and my motley crew of friends would sneak into the cattle strewn corrals, beneath these hills...taking the chance of angry wayward, rock-salt-shotgun-armed ranchers in helicopters, overhead (...truth be known, they couldn't hit the side of a barn, from point blank range, the bastards)...hiking up to the hills, and camping out, knowing full well that wild wolves populated the thicketed hill crevices...then, coming back down the next day, to the streets & abode-structured, rural 'civilization', with shoeboxes filled with tarantulas (...oh, how Mom LOVED that...). It is a boy's world, not all that far removed from this...a world filled with danger and intrigue...which inescapably springboards into the chillingly compelling, Southern fried drama, "Mud"...