I don’t want to make this blog about Cleveland. That is why I start­ed Tremonter. But, I live in Cleveland and I’m con­stant­ly putting my­self in po­si­tions where peo­ple are talk­ing about Cleveland. So, I’m get­ting Cleveland on the brain. Which is fun­ny, since I don’t care for any of the sports teams, go down­town once in a blue moon and have no idea what a tree lawn is. I al­so have noth­ing even ap­prox­i­mate to a Cleveland ac­cent, thank­ful­ly. My spleen is fine, but my froat hurts. I went to the North of Literary block club last night, which was rather emp­ty, but there was a gen­tle­man who was like a stereo­typ­i­cal mafioso and there was al­so a very pret­ty young la­dy but I think she was with her man. Ow. froat. Ain’t got noth­ing else to blo­gabout.

5 thoughts on “Froat

  1. Steve, yes I’m cer­tain of that.

    Lori, yes, I’ve been quite ba­nal late­ly. I couldn’t ask the scene though, I can’t even talk to­day. froat.

  2. You’re cer­tain. Hmmm… even so, if ya don’t have some­thing to blo­gabout, the two of them could make for an in­ter­est­ing fic­tion­al fan­ta­sy blog en­try in your hands, Adam — of that I’m quite cer­tain!

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