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April 2, 2008
Spring hasn’t exactly sprung, but the hillsides of Vermont have sloughed to the extent that their soft, muddy underbelly has been exposed. The sun is out, the roads are dry, and I can make sharp, fast turns on the backroads; the way I like it. M is with me; we’re taking an off-season jaunt to a local Inn. The drinks go down easy; the final bill, notsomuch.

I made two mistakes this weekend: I told M that I refer to him as “M” when I write. The second mistake was when I told him he made my stomach drop. Whoopsy.