To Wild Homes We Go
Another funeral today. People often say they come in threes, but not only is that morbid, it's stupid. By the end of the day, though, I was wiped out. So, even though it was only in the 60s and a totally lovely night for a race, I opted out. Instead, I sat by our little portable firepit dealie, drank Rolling Rock Green Lights, and strummed my guitar well into the night. Well, until about 9.



PS I once drank three beers in a night and worried my mother. I believe they were Sam Adams.