Mudding

Original Paragraph:
When the third plit came a minute later, I'd had enough. I slammed my book down and stomped up the aisle. There he was, sitting cross-legged on the floor between two stacks, blocking the way, reading a book, sucking on a lemon. I stood there, glaring down at him. At first I thought he was simply ignoring me. As the seconds went by, I became less sure. He seemed totally swallowed up in the book. A sucked-out rind of a half lemon lay on the floor. The other half was moving around in his mouth.

Participles: All are in present tense

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"Sling a little mud in my four-wheel drive, trek it on into town!" The country song is all I can hear, blasting through this Jeep Wrangler's crackling speakers. My three friends and I are laughing and screaming at the top of our lungs. We're all sporting farmer's tans, old t-shirts and worn-out jeans. Right turn. Left turn. With every turn, we get muddier. If we get stuck, we girls will jump right out and push. We get muddy, but who cares; this is where it's at. Time for a mud fight; who can get the dirtiest? I win! Hair is a mess, all stuffed under this mossy oak baseball cap; take me as I am, because this is what you're getting. None of us are preppy, because that isn't any fun. Time to head home; we take the main-street route in this town just to make all those Prius drivers jealous. Of course, at the stoplight, we've got to rev it a little bit, just to even out their non-existent carbon footprint. This is how we live; isn't anything better; be jealous.