Northern Exposure Report
Dave at his swimming hole along Boulder Creek
Dave and I set our sights on Neva Loop this afternoon—spinning was the name of the game.
Leaving campus, we thought we must have been on the set of a Charlie Chaplin movie. Cars were backing out at us, delivery trucks were honking their horns like we just stole their mothers' dentures, and god-fearing citizens popped out of nowhere, nearly torpedoing us.
We were just waiting for a grand piano to drop out of a window.
But, we survived the orchestrated chaos. Dave took out his frustration on Folsom Street, smoking that thoroughfare like I've never seen before.
If you see him, tell him I think I found one of the screws that belongs in his left knee.