Roll over gently and gentlemanly. Share sixteen blocks with a tall lovely in lime green summer dress and tortoise shades. In summer, you let the lady keep the chat up. May I call you Kimberley? Sure Dan, you can come over. “Drunk girls take an hour to pee.” Do not watch the male bonding video. I’m as shocked as you are. Ankeny and back sidewalk route to Steel Bridge. Fortune shines on the True Four. Synchronicity. Yell at the Albers Mill and measure the triangles at sunset on the bridge. I know it isn’t February yet, but it sure feels like Robert Burns birthday. This fund is your fund. This fund is my fund. From the leaking gas tanks to the railroad train fumes. From the greasy duck ponds to the dead swan island. This fund is made for you and me. Can’t catch the grain train. Paint it crooked or don’t paint at all. St Helens Road, the swift stack, and the other world called NW. 21st is for patio lovers. Lovers of radio. Lovers of TV. Drink beneath the fake, electric, talking trees. Dan’s got cassettes. Dan’s got cassettes. I read it in an email. Dan’s got cassettes. Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, Billy Joel. If I could only leave a tender moment alone. Kong in to make it five. Pat Travers asks and you answer. Ella St is sorta social. Rule for ordering drinks at the bar: If there is a line or the bartender is an idiot, order singles neat with backs and get outta there. Olives and bread. Southpaw is right handed. Are you gone is haunted folk tunes and a hot girl on drums. that is really something there on the steps. Dublin says there is a reason I moved away. C’mon social! Morrison double wide and the montage highway sneak. Roadside is a summer fire, but time is up for this country gentleman. Not gome by shmidnight, but close.