“So, you know, after today, I might not see you again. You might not see me again…” I said.“Look, just don’t forget about me when you get to...high school, all right?” She said, smiling. Afterwards, she gave me a piece of folded paper. It was her phone number.“Don’t worry, I won’t,” I said. I never used the number.Eight years later…It was the third quarter, close to a blowout. We were going to win. But I liked blowouts. They seemed funny to me. I watched the next play intently as the quarterback. If you like the story click the thumbs up button. Have any feedback or questions? Contact me Note: Juts a small clearing about my previous story. People have been bombarding my email inbox asking about Darzle. Some guys even took in the fact that I am Darzle and talked to my inbox as if I’m the girl! Well, I’ve talked to her regarding this and she has agreed on creating a new account just to answer questions people have been asking me. the ID is Don’t ask anything sensible, please. I hope. This presented me with the opportunity to question General Clark about local ale production, something that I had been putting off since we arrived."I've been wondering why the ale here is of such poor quality, sir. After all, they seem to produce a lot of whiskey," was how I started."I'm no expert on ale or beer either, but as I understand it, most are brewed by local families or by the owners of the many taverns. The real problem, as it was explained to me by an Officer who was more. He relaxed into his seat, hisjacket slung over the back of it. He wasn't wearing his scarf, but wasnow mildly concerned by the way his adam's apple seemed to be beingswallowed up by the flesh of his increasingly slender neck. Thequizmaster boomed out another question. 'Reckon the answer to that'sSteven Soderbergh,' he said.'Yeah,' Max nodded. He glanced sidelong at him. 'For someone who didn'tfinish his A-levels you know a hell of a lot more than I'd've thought.''I don't have qualifications -.