“I’m off to the lease early,” said my philisophical pal, GWB, “So I can shoot some ducks and get back to the metrosprawl for Mass.” And that’s what he did, see above.
I wanted to join in, too, but couldn’t because of a funeral and a wedding, to say nothing of a burned hand. Speaking of which, my old friend, VCC (Veteran Crew Chief), who once turned out a roving band of motorcycle hippies from his stock tank, asked me how the hand was doing.
“How’s that hand, LSP?”
“Better, but here’s my advice.”
“Don’t pour boiling oil on your fingers. If you do, they’re good for nothing.”
“Hey, you can always eat them.”
|A Typical Motorcycle Hippy|
VCC tells me he enjoyed Laos, Cambodia and helicopters but didn’t much like the military, or motorcycle hippies chancing it out of Austin. Regardless, for me, the hunting’s vicarious. That will change.
Get out in the field.