Gun Fun

Back East, Global Warming is in full cry, and people who forgot to stock up on french toast are being forced to eat their pets. Here, where hunting the mighty Mastodon with anything more aggressive than a sharp stick will get you laughed at, we all got together and went out to hunt the wily wild bowling pin.

Foggy this morning, which coated everything with the kind of photogenic layer of ice that poets like to write about, especially from a warm loft with a hot beverage in hand. It's enough to convince you that being a poet is not without its advantages.

NOTE: At low temperatures, the plastic sheathing on bowling pins gets quite brittle, making for rather striking explosions of plastic from struck pins. Pictures, still and moving were taken. Film, as they say, at 11, whenever that turns out to be.