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Recuperating from yesterday. An old Italian man had a 95th birthday party in lovely Springfield, a posh burb. His portrait is over the spinet in the parlor.
I was the roadie for a karaoke guy who sang a lot of Frank, some Dean and some Louie. The food was sumptious, and we had a big picnic in the sprawling back yard. I guzzled Sam Adams and Merlot and lasagna and then cake. What was I thinking?
It was lovely. There was a pool for the kiddies. Midlifers told each other fish stories, and the true geezers recounted tales of the PRT trains and trollies and downtown before WWII.
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......pick yourself up...... ......dust yourself off...... ......start all over again...... (my e-mail)
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