Postby Tramp » Fri Apr 23, 2004 10:01 am
San, I once worked on a painting crew doing downtown buildings in Vermont. One guy had a masters in philosophy, one a doctorate of art, one was an ex-green beret, me, the highschool dropout, and the crew head's dad was a Mafia guy from NJ, who had his little toes surgically removed so he could wear pointy Italian shoes. We had a great time. The green beret could move a 40-foot wood ladder by himself. There's a character in my first novel based on him.
Jackie. Toasts require lubrication. Lately there's been NO fresh Labatt ale.
Will, sadly, this morning, your shot would not appear. Is it the milk train in the woods?
That a life will be spent gaining inches,
When this distance is read in miles.