While following Hank Cherry under the Highway 150 bridge, the derelict in me was greatly tempted by the Pinnacle Marina "Grill, Billards" sign. For those who don't know, "freelance writer" is just a fancy term for "derelict."
A couple of cold ones and some pro football, man, I'm trying not to think about it.
We're going to hang with Hank for at least one more stop. He's moved into Stumpy Creek now.
The idea of boating back down the white-capping lake in search of David Williams, Andy Montgomery or Chad Morgenthaler isn't all that appealing right now.
I try not to root for anyone in these events. It's unprofessional. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't rooting for Cherry to start catching them now, for my sake more than his. If we can just hang out here awhile longer, I might yield to my instincts.
