Yesterday, as we left the building, I told The Pony to slow down. After all, I held the keys to T-Hoe. No need for him to dart out in the rain and wait for me to hobble closer.
"Hold up. I have no knee cartilage. I feel my bones grinding together as I walk. I swear, every time I take a step, it's like walking on two mortars. Or two pestles. I can never keep them straight."
"It's pestles."
I don't know where The Pony comes up with his bits of illuminating trivia. But he's rarely wrong. I suppose that's a good thing. I would look pretty silly walking on two mortars.
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