Sunday mornings are for Tolstoy and sweet tea on the porch. By noon I'm reviewing race routes and re-racking pool balls in my head. The week ahead has a certain rhythm to it — one I can already feel in my bones. Ain't nothing like it.
Sunday mornings are for Tolstoy and sweet tea on the porch. By noon I'm reviewing race routes and re-racking pool balls in my head. The week ahead has a certain rhythm to it — one I can already feel in my bones. Ain't nothing like it.