North of Mexico, south of Canada, and not too far west of the freshwater sea called Lake Michigan, in a place where cows polka-dot hills and men are serious about cheese, there is a lady on a pole. The Lady is an archer, pale and posing twenty feet in the air above a potholed parking lot.
So begins my third time adventuring with the Smiths. I’m ready (and do promise not to smoke in the library).
— Jan 01, 2026 12:13PM
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