I like to read. Recently, obviously, I’ve gotten into the blogosphere. For the most part, what I find is incessant rambling on the inconsequential (not that my own blog is much better). There are a few gems of literary greatness out there, and LT G is certainly one of them.
A) Congrats to a deserving man
B) The story he weaves to tell of the event is simply awesome to read in its stylistic blend of literary genius and Gen-X colloquialism.
And then it was. The next morning brings the verbal leaves, the crunchy summer-red ones that mean we must go our separate ways. Time. It waits. For no. One. Now or never. Never or now.
Night. A crescent moon, loaned to Italia by way of my Arab friends down yonder in the Cradle of Civilization. One last walk on the beach, letting the crashing waves speak for us in languages we don’t need to understand. Deep breath. You can’t mess this up, you Irish bastard. Back in the day, during all those basketball games with the boys, you prided yourself on being the clutchest of the clutch, the little point guard with a champion’s swagger and a first step to the left that could shake anyone.
Yeah, but this ain’t basketball.
I’m still fucking clutch, though. Smoother than ice.
Gotta love it. Go take a read and congratulate the man!!