Chilling at Commander Keane’s house. I drove down Woodland this evening to pick up firewood from the gas station, and it felt like I was toolin’ around in a mountain ski resort. Duluth is a splendid place to be if it’s gonna snow in mid-October.
I discover that Keane has really fun stairs for sliding down on your belly, but I tear a button off my plumbing shirt on my fourth run. Luckily Jon is prepared and brought his trusty sewing kit to the party.
We eat chips on the floor. The salsa tastes like Heinz 57 with bits of pepper.
We microwave a cd. It smells like an old race track.
Mark and I trade off setting ourselves on fire.
The music sounds great.