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?

Shoot,

Drew






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

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