Hit the links this morning down in Wilmington with the Old Devil Dog Farts, a rather unofficial and informal group with the sole requirement for admission is to be a retired senior enlisted leatherneck with a low IQ. Cigars were smoked; Padron 2000s for me.Then it was a frontal assault on the club lounge where we held our position armed with booze and wild tales until relieved by our significant others, notably our wives and girlfriends (a support unit described as the Designated Driver Brigade).
Now at home on the porch watching the surf smoking a bowl of Wilke Crystal Palace.