I'm not hankering for the dramatic in life, but we had a run last night that would curl your hair.
Organized shuffleboard has always filled me with dread. Everything about it suggests infirm senescence and death: it’s like it’s a game played on the skin of a void and the rasp of the sliding puck is the sound of that skin getting abraded away bit by bit.
The song has a phat bass line.
[…] the old gentleman […] pooh-poohed the idea, and finally dismissed Henry in a state of semidesperation […]
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