Giruvegan, cont'd.

Ah the hell with it. Still playing the game. It's fun. Sort of. Like smoking. Smoking! What I really want is a pipe and a can of Copenhagen, and a little corner of eternity to sip blue smoke in, and learn to play the guitar, and chat with friends who visit once every 333 years or so. There's that. What I really want is to play poker with a bunch of dogs. Or dance with bears. Or carve my own flute and light up somebody's Spring with it. Grandchildren, and a bowl of my wife's beef stew for breakfast on a chilly, snowy morning in December, a few days after Christmas. All of that's in Giruvegan, the Giruvegan I remember...