Greeny

I'm sorry for the silence of the last few days but I was joined, rather abruptly, by an old cohort of mine: a certain Mr. Green. We hadn't seen each other in some two or three years and, although we used to play a bit of golf together some ten years ago, we haven't exactly kept in regular contact. How delightful it is then to re-establish a connection with someone whom you'd expected had only drifted away from you into newer and sprightlier circles. We gave American ale a run for its money and sampled the local hotspots, of which there are few, and so we became community folk-heroes for a few fleeting moments. This morning I sent him on his way toward the Grand Canyon courtesy of a Greyhound bus. I hope he won't mind me revealing this, but he's somewhat of a Blues fan. (We delighted some local characters one evening with a brief but heated debate regarding the existence or non-existence of a man named Robert Johnson.) And so, Greeny ventures across this great Republic in a mini-pilgrimage to the birthplaces of Blues: Austin, Texas and New Orleans, Louisiana. I wish him all the best. Remarkably, it will only be a few weeks before we see each other again at my 21st birthday bash. Already, I look forward to looking back.