A familiar face returns for a trial run on a wounded wing. But the wounds run deeper than she lets on.
I was sweeping the backfield for the first half. Still ended up passing a couple of folks. Four miles but too many distractions. A Father McNeil burger after: Irish Bacon and a fried egg on top. Could barely finish it. Dying to find the picture of that bad boy.
Three ciders aren't enough most nights.
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