And YOU were there.
A whole slew of my friends and family and favored co-workers and gunnies and what not were all sitting down to a great big long banquet table for a meal. It had a white table cloth. It was outdoors, and the weather was gorgeous, and it was in Northern Italy.
Lots of you brought children or nieces and nephews. One of the younger ones didn't know what the Violent Femmes were. So I started singing American Music. And the rest of you joined in on the chorus. Very well done, people, good job. A great moment.
Better than the dream the night before when Blackjack bombers were flying over my house on a starry night, maneuvering violently, heading south.
Nightmarish, But was better than the night before. When my old crotchety neighbor Archie was still alive, but mentally gone, and standing in his front yard, the most familiar place in the world, but recognizing nothing, and screaming, SCREAMING in terror. That was a nightmare.
We're Not Going to Make It, Are We
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