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April 29, 2007
Paul and I were hiking and exploring the hills behind my house. All the kids played, rode bikes, hid playboys and generally ran that place. We walked down into a glorified ditch they called the LNVA canal to the water, looking to cross on a bridge made of shopping carts laid on their side end to end. As usual, we had sticks, or some other “weapon” we’d found or made, with us. I was leading, and Paul shouted out and made me jump, right as he stuck his walking stick into the head of a cottonmouth about to strike me