Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Wheels Keep Turning



Nothing like a ragtop Beetle, with four on the floor and wind blowing through your hair as you head out on the backroads from Mora, Minnesota. Who cares if this tin can of a car doesn't have a heater; it's our endless summer. With my girl waiting at our cabin hideaway, what is there to go wrong? What was it she was talking about earlier, something about a clinic?

What?

By Professor Batty



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