A growl erupts from the corner. The beast turns vicious fangs to me, moments before he lunges for my throat... to give me a big, sloppy kiss. Stupid dog.
This Sunday 160 is brought to you by the letter E (for Ezmund) and the number 38, Stanford's score as I write this. Oh, and it's dedicated to Monkey Man, who writes stuff. And is watching the Stanford game while the pizza cools. Hi, MM.