here is the birthday boy, cowering under the table, overwhelmed by the volume, loving intention, and stone-cold grandeur of the thundering birthday song.
and here is the beautiful master of ceremonies, the deft orchestrator of the confluence, the mother of my children.
and here are the out-of-towners, posing for a Rogue Buoy album cover.
[and finally, whoever left the dull comment under the name "geeyourdumb@yahoo.com," please refrain from throwing petty rocks from behind bushes—if you have a beef, have the courage to identify yourself. good luck with all that gnashing of teeth in your darkened rooms.]
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