Contributor: Donal Mahoney
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He's out there again, my neighbor, the doctor, waiting for the snow plow to pass so he can jog on a clean street.
It's 5 a.m. and we've had three inches of snow and it's still coming down but nothing can stop him.
Doc jogs every morning, good weather or bad.
This morning we meet because I'm out spelunking in the snow and the dark for my morning paper.
Going through his warm-ups, he invites me once again to join him for a jog, an invitation he extends when we meet on dark mornings.
As I have told him before, I tell him once again that I'll arrive soon enough in Cadaverville and have no desire to get there faster.
Months ago, I told him about articles in the paper, three or four times a year, indicating that another otherwise healthy man had dropped dead while jogging.
I tell him that's not a good...
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Author:
Donal Mahoney
