Outside the Minnesota State Line PART 3 Recipes for disaster and all that jazz, as performed on a rusty tin whistle

It was a difficult few months, finding himself outside the minnesota state line with nothing to show for himself. I mean, whilst within the borders of that hospitable state, he felt lulled into a quazi comfort zone. What prompted that delusion to rear itself from his soul to sustain that reaction, we will never know.

Be that as it may, now, at his peril, the lulling had terminated, abruptly, or so it seemed.

He found himself in the midst of a storm without hope of a door upon which one dare dream of collapse. The poor dear.

Instead, he found himself wondering the byways and straitways of life outside the minnesota state line, with only his collection of recipes, and a rusty tin whistle, to keep him company.

(yes, let us pause here to reflect upon the crafty hilar perfectly tangled into that last run on sentence.)