10 of us gathered in the cool, crisp gloom of Danger Zone this morning. With YHC’s broken wing still ailing (mostly from where Shank twisted it behind my back at Monday’s golf tournament while yelling in my ear ‘Ya like that McCants! Yeah, baby, take that!, mocking our team’s inability to keep up with his glorious foursome’s handicapped-reduced score), and with Flip Flop’s personal pre-blast of ‘not too much arm work now’ still rattling around ole YHC’s head, Schlitz requested the workout give him a tour of the park at which he will be Q’ing next week. YHC, being open to requests, was more than happy to oblige. And thus, the PAX ran around the pickle four times, then ran to the basketball courts, then ran to the sand volleyball courts, then ran to the picnic area, then ran to the playground, and then ran out of the park and down the hill and the back up the hill at a heightened pace and then back down the hill and then back up the hill at a heightened pace, and then past the park’s marquee down to Cary’s most important guardrail, and then down the street a little farther, and then back up the street to the marquee while stopping to admire the streetlights, and then back to the basketball courts, and then to the middle of the courts, then to the baseline, then to other baseline, then back to the baseline where we started, and then to the middle of the courts, and then to the baseline, and then to the other baseline and then back to the baseline where we started, and then gathered for a round of PAX-led Mary. The stars were beautiful, and stories were told about tour, which takes some of the PAX to Providence, Long Island, and Charleston where we shall take sweet guitar licks TO THE FACE. YHC out.