The Last Night in CT

After the wasp stings healed up, Dan and I went geocaching. No finds, but a nice 1.07 mile walk up steep terrain found me in the middle of a nice little memorial park.

Dinner was at a brewing company in Willimantic, a.k.a. Connecticut's "Heroin Town". They were out of a whiskey barrel-aged barleywine blend called "J. D. Whammer Melange" and, to add insult to injury, a post-dinner stroll up and down Main Street at 8:30 at night failed to yield any heroin nor a solicitation from a smack whore.

I bought a T-shirt and took copious pictures of frogs instead.

I'm wondering what tonight will bring. I've had a great time with Dan and Laura, and every evening ends with a long, soul-searching conversation about love, betrayal and the inevitability of the damage you take when a train speeds into a brick wall and no one pulls the brake. Dan is keen on the subject and has been a stellar observer of the events of the sick parade of dickery that has been my life. He's got no qualms about figuring out the nasty minutiae of who needs to be bitch-slapped and who should probably get jumped by goons in a dark alley. I am happy to know that what happens in Connecticut stays in Connecticut.

So in three days I've gone to the fair, visited a massive pornography store, and I watched Dan get stung by wasps. Good times.