Happy Mardi Gras, y'all! Laissez les bon temps roulez! Get your rocks off before Lent, and the season of self-denial, begins. Maybe they're running around half-naked in Brazil, and New Orleans, but here in the umpteenth Circle of Hell, we're already into the mortification of the flesh thing. Or, maybe it's just frostbite. If Donald Trump fired the cleaning woman with six kids it wouldn't be any colder than this.
Four miles into my six, I crossed the 300-mile mark for the year. It was my 47th day in a row. One for every year I've been on this frozen rock, and one for every brain cell I have left.
Thanks for humoring me.
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