It was the kind of hangover I liked and often cultivated. Enough of one to remind me that I’d had a good time, but not enough to shy me away from the first evening drink. I sat in the shop among the ancient and broken-down outboards that needed repair, cradling a mug of coffee, and watched the morning fog lift from the lake and disappear. High clouds were beginning to take form; it would be a fine day.
The old man, the kid, and the dumpling
by Bob White - Thursday, Nov 16th, 2023