It would seem that my old arch-enemy Chauncy Middlemarch can't let me have the spotlight for even the blink of an eye; that old fox has started a blog of his own, The Tradewinds Have Names.
I haven't seen the Chaunce-ster since he beat me in the finals of the Central American Crossfire Championship. It wasn't a fair match (in classic Chauncy fashion he sprayed the trigger of his marble shooter with a fine mist of graphite powder to gain the upper hand) but by the time the referees realized what had happened he was on a steamboat to Panama, the championship belt stuffed under his poncho, the misty river air blowing through his hair like marbles rolling across laminated cardboard .
(Also, be sure to read the reviews of Crossfire at Amazon, they are the best.)
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