Every morning starts the same way for me — bare feet on cold tile, a 78 playing something Gershwin wrote, and the quiet certainty that today might be the day I finally fix that old Omega. Or at least pretend I will.
Every morning starts the same way for me — bare feet on cold tile, a 78 playing something Gershwin wrote, and the quiet certainty that today might be the day I finally fix that old Omega. Or at least pretend I will.