Jack, lost, alone on a street full of people...
If I could snare lightning...
Oh, I’ve done my share of camping...
Let me start this by stating, loudly and unequivocally, that I hope this does not become another ebullient Michael Jackson eulogy...
There she stands behind the counter, slightly awkward as ever...
I only lasted a couple months in that dodgy house I told you about before...
Every neighborhood bar has its regulars, and its own variety of drunks who never seem to leave...
The sacrifice of the 'newsworthy' at the expense of sensationalism isn't a recent development...
