Dear Wigleaf,

I've switched from coffee to tea, from the Pogues to the Dubliners, from electric guitar to the banjo, from Colt 45 to Mickey's. I get up in the morning, Wigleaf. I don't get down at night. I almost signed up for summer camp, and I hate summer camp. What's happening to me, Wigleaf? Remember when we used to sit on the porch with that dog? The one who didn't smell so good? And we talked?



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Read LP's story, "Theodore and Darlene Were Sweethearts."

w i g · l e a F               10-02-10                                [home]