I’m an expatriate delayed, perpetually stuck inside of Nawbany with the Bamberg blues again, whiling away the hours in contemplation: pagan life, edibles and potables, famous victories and soul-wrenching defeats, all of them amid the backdrop of an open-air museum of ignorance, superstition, and backwardness, the New Albany Archipelago, where we’re all here only because we’re not all there.
By the way, have I mentioned a compulsion to write? The late, great Michael “Beer Hunter” Jackson referred to me on more than one occasion as a polemicist, and I cherish his thoughts. My words will either exonerate or condemn me when the show trials begin.
Either way, there’ll be time for a few more beers.