Sunny Saturday, throw the whole pack in the wagon and go somewhere new. We puttered to Lanesboro, and had lunch at Das Wurst Haus. Sausage, mustard and Schell's, and, as the sign says, there's no charge for the polka music.
I know the time. I get it. I'm tightly wound, but know when to kick off the shoes. I pay attention. I observe everything. I know what I'm doing and know how it works. I crave the authentic, the genuine and the classic, and the noise, jive and bullshit of this era will find no purchase on my watch.
And I can flat drive anything.