"Rich, we have a problem.” I agreed. It was less than 12 hours after surgery and I was in pain and wanted something for it. But the way I asked for it was an issue.
I’m back. Hip, hip, hooray. Incorrect. Hip, artificial hip, hooray.
Well, now that we’ve found out Sonny Borrelli curses in conversations he thinks are private, it’s time to decide what it all means.
It was kind of refreshing to get through that Deep-Fried Hostess Twinkies story on Page 2B (or not 2B) without some health professional shrieking that one bite would likely result in a massive fatal heart attack, and that two bites would be even worse for you.
About an hour past sunset I stepped out the back door for some quiet time and was startled to see someone in one of the lawn chairs. I couldn't make out his features due to the dark, but when he spoke I knew who it was.