It’s February in Columbus, Ohio. Late February. And I am simply all wintered-out. If you’re like me, you’re starting to itch for outdoor bar-b-que again. Not commercial bar-b-que. The hands-on, sippin’-a-beverage-in-your-backyard in the warm air-kinda bar-b-que.
Twilight in February. I strike a match, and put flame to the political section, which resided nicely crumpled in the bottom of the charcoal chimney. The initial rush of smoke was strong, as it curled up into the fading light. A satisfied contentment was in the air as I tarried there at the pit, hands in my smoking jacket, admiring how the moon hung in the eastern sky, and how its soft ,blue hue washed over my many snow piles, shoveled high, and seasoned in ashes blown. A pleasant evening to grill, by and far. But then when isn’t it, really. Lets head inside then, and see what’s for supper.
Deep in the recesses of the freezer, where men seldom tread, I found a bag of winglets which all but begged for attention. I was reminded of some popular sports bars in the area, where upon I would patron on occasion…
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