I have a taste for brookies and if there are any left over, it will be fishcakes for breakfast. So tomorrow morning will find me in my favorite haunt on the Jordan doing what I can to put brookies in my creel before the plastic, rubber and aluminum hatch occur.
If anyone has any idea of saving me from myself, forget it. When this mood strikes, it’s like a Whimpy looking for a hamburger. (If you don’t know who Whimpy is, ask your grandfather.)