Paul; in Minneapolis, Nokomis, Hiawatha, Harriet, Calhoun, Cedar, and Lake of the Isles, pools of ease and elegance on the asphalt grid—and Lake Minnetonka, the prairie Riviera, off to the southwest.This geography was imprinted in my brain back when I learned my alphabet from the avenues of Minneapolis (Aldrich, Bryant, Colfax, Dupont, Emerson, Fremont, Girard, Humboldt, Irving, James, Knox through Xerxes, York, and Zenith), which I might recite on my deathbed to prove I still have brain function.
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Paul and the gleam of steel rails that carried Dad in the mail car of the Empire Builder departing Union Depot for Seattle, a .38 snub-nosed revolver on his hip, and past the cathedral near where I now live on a street of old stone mausoleums and the hospital where I walked in one day and said, “I think I’m having a stroke” (and I was), and we bank over Mendota, where back in my drinking days I hung out in a club devoted to New Orleans jazz and heard the great Billie and De De Pierce, and Willie and Percy Humphrey, and we come in low over the Minnesota River and as the plane touches down on the runway, I can see the hill where I used to park in a car with a girl and watch planes land and also make out, back in the days of the front seat when two people could get involved with each other in thrilling ways. And it is distressing to come home and not know where I am.
A one-minute flight into the past, and if we’d landed from the north, there’d be more. But driving east from the airport, there is the Mississippi, and I am reoriented. I will go out of my way to cruise by the white tower of the horticulture building at the state fairgrounds and the grandstand and the remains of the racetrack where auto thrill-show drivers raced late-model Fords off ramps and through flaming hoops and a woman in a spangly suit dived from a high tower into a water tank.
Lauren played with her old toys, when a man wrapped in a white sheet entered the room and started approaching her.
Scream stuck in her throat, when he grabbed her legs, pulled off her pants and started sticking his stiff cock between her clenched lips.
I'm not changing my life, I'm just trying to make it more interesting. Feel free to drop me a line and let's see what develops. *UPDATE* Well boys, and funny thing is, is that i really mean boys this time. Cuz to be honest you boys have been doing a number to me. What makes me laugh is that a lot of you say you dont want games and a woman that speaks her mind, and here you are the ones playing games and want the girl to shut up and stick your cock in her mouth.
* UPDATE * Well boys i finally put my foot down and said enough, so that makes me seperated and looking for more than just here and there get-togethers. 99.9% of you say you want honesty, so why do you lie? I am a good and honest person, that tells it like it is. Oh to all the people that keep looking at my profile, don't be shy say hi.
There’s a newer north-south runway, and on that approach I don’t recognize a thing. My grandma Dora Keillor was riding in my dad’s car one winter day in 1957 when the car spun out of control on an icy highway and did a doughnut or two and stopped, still on the road. When a man has lived in one place so long, he takes comfort in landmarks. When Northwestern National Bank was sold to a giant chain, whose brass decided to do away with the beloved Weatherball (“When the Weatherball is white, colder weather is in sight”), it was like a death in the family. Paul is simple: Two interlocking cities—the Great River with its rhythmic spelling M-i-ss-i-ss-i-pp-i flowing in from the north, through Anoka and over St.