The wife and I attended our first local track (Bowman Gray Stadium in Winston Salem) evening of races. This is one of the reasons we moved. What's that I hear? Some lame, tired joke about left turns? What's that other sound I hear? Ah, that would be the dulcet tone of me smacking you upside your head.
Here's the evidence:
And a gratuitous rib-eating shot:
Now, back to your regularly scheduled artyness.
2 comments:
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