"Why do they [write] for their money? Why do they [work] for short pay? They ain't getting nowhere and they're losing their share. They must have gone crazy back there." — Michael Burton (paraphrased)
Clinton, South Carolina, Saturday, March 18, 2017, 10:25 a.m. It’s been a lovely cruise, this week. Other than a couple cold nights at athletic fields, it was mainly noteworthy for what I am doing now, which is typing in various directions. This wasn’t nose-to-the-grindstone typing, in part because I own no grindstones, but also because …
It was blazing hot outside, but I never knew it. I shaved but never showered. On TV, the U.S. Open thought it was the Twenty-Four Hours of Le Mans. I was mainly oblivious. Occasionally, a hot-pink shirt or a crowd’s roar drew my attention. Golf announcers are exceedingly calm and mostly literate. Vin Scully is …
Nightrider's Lament 