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September 12, 2012

Lacking functional boob-tube reception on the home front, still curious over the macabre gruesomeness of exploding 767’s, and with spouse not in attendance, I hastened contact with cronies and a former moonlighting employer, immediately making preparations to dispatch to the previous home state for a round of reasonably lucrative work gigs and perhaps more importantly, reconnection.

That’s a 56-word sentence, by the way.

Our illustrious former next-door neighbors welcomed my shaky pink carcass and we shared many a shit-shootin’ session in their kitchen, perched over the uniquely drab black & white tile as the wall-mounted CRT boob-tube blared new findings.