As I was considering Callum and Hugh's secret life as a (were)wolf pack of two and writing hyper-detailed versions of reality with a touch of pathetic fallacy (A-level Eng Lit has a lot to answer for) and my mind shifted to Armando Langoustini and swimming pools. Compare/contrast the last pool Langoustini saw (and the poor bastard in it) with the
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The contemplation was brought on by a gorgeously restored, Mountie red, white racing striped GTO that was going down Peachtree Center Ave as I was walking from parking deck to building. Distracted me most of the afternoon. ;)
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