Jake, John and I threw the football while the sun set over the river and the aroma of the drunken chicken escaped from the grill. I officially gave Jake permission to play organized football in a few years if he chooses. While I might like him to be the kicker, I think he has quarterback in mind.
One more bike ride around the west side and dinner would be ready. Jake jumped on my Ellsworth, a real treat indeed, and declared, "Call me the bullet. That's my new nickname."