
If you have ever popped open a cold lager on a hot summer afternoon, you know why. It is refreshing! I remember wandering the foothills around Lucca, Italy many years ago. I to a towering height on one mountainous hill, and gazed miles and miles across the beautiful terrain of Tuscany. On the way down, I wound up in a bull’s field, and he proceeded to chase me around as I screamed for my life. I lept a barbed-wire fence, and found a footpath down into a tiny hillside village. I was parched, and the owner of the one bar offered me a cold Italian lager: I think nothing has ever tasted better.
@previous (B)
Quit making up fictitious names.
What witchcraft has he woven over you all to make you keep obsessing over him for decades?