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Some night this fall, under a cloud covered moon, into the face of a chill wind, waves breaking over a boulder field, a needle will be driven into the darkness, then start its slow journey back towards the beach, only to stopped by an unyielding force, heavy, alive, and stong, and the rod will bow, and the drag give way, and the spool start to empty, and a heart start to pound,........ and his spirit will again be with us. RIP, Habs.
Last edited by numbskull; 09-23-2007 at 01:01 PM..
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