Across the wet field in the dry dugout two young women sheltered themselves as I unhooked the Hammer and let her burn off some steam. Thick clouds of blueberry skin coloured smoke just about hid the two dugout women from view every minute or so as they exhaled the world's most powerful magic.
When my dog and I walked near the dugout I said, "Nothing beats a big, motherfucking bomber on rainy day like this one."
The two of them smiled and said not a word. They just kept smoking. Dopers are like that.
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