missive from a Greyhound somewhere in rural Wyoming

Internet, I gave up on my photo per game thing because honestly I have mostly given up on most aspects of this modern life. I occupy my time snorting bath salts in bus station bathrooms, then riding in whatever direction I feel while reading Technological Slavery, the collected writings of Ted Kaczynski. But I have followed the Nats from afar thru bus station TV monitors (where available) and day old newspapers, and let me tell you a thing: Strasburg and Harper have been as awesome as one could possibly expect. Before the Nats came to DC, I was a Giants fan due to playing on a team called the Giants when I was 8-years-old, and that era when Barry Bonds was dialed in was something else, and yet it also disheartened me to the beisbols because of all the obvious reasons from that era. I can tell you that in my mind I already compare Bryce Harper to Barry Bonds, and think Harper is a much more enjoyable force.
I hope that DC stays successful and Peter Angelos stops sabotaging the Nats long-term viability with his errant TV bullshit where he skims off the Nats like a baseball mafioso (which he is, of course), because I would like to grow old and grey reading about Bryce Harper on the Nationals on Greyhound back seats. To idly sit on a Missoula, Montana, bench, reading of his 12-inning heroics, it made me drunker in my soul than any amount of panhandling for Four Loko money ever could, at least for the moment.