as the wind rushed down the stairs of the 7 station at vernon-jackson and it hit me in the face.
and then the bastard was at 30 minutes from the north Irish border at the grainen of aliech
and the wind told him that he would have been 88 today.
and he'd be looking for a wide brimmed hat.
grandpa was quirky that way. sleep well father of my father.
and I will see you at the end of all things.
I'll bring the whiskey.