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When we left our narrative yesterday, Team Hearn had arrived at the Outer Banks, I had gone for a bike ride, and then my father and I bought a metric f-ton of booze.

That night, we had A Storm. It was a Noreaster, one of those storms of lore that demolishes homes and moves dunes around. The wind shook the house and drenched everything, but we spent the evening in our tidy little nook knocking back beers and gin until House ended and we all fell asleep. WE ARE WILD PARTY ANIMALS.

On Tuesday, we stayed inside while we awaited the abatement of the rain. That night my brother-in-law arrived, and later that evening my aunt and uncle and cousin as well. And there was much rejoicing.

Wednesday, we did some shopping and prepared ourselves for the onslaught of deliciousness that is Thanksgiving. We also drank more.

Thursday, we ate ourselves retarded.

Friday, I briefly considered going out for a jog, but made myself a sandwich instead. We ran low on beer and had to go out for more, and then went out to dinner, where we drank more beer and ate like kings yet again, ignoring the mounds of leftovers back at the house. And babies in Africa cried.

On Saturday we awoke, did some more shopping, packed ourselves up, and BOUNCED. Charles slept the whole way, aside from a stop once we reached Delaware for KFC and Taco Bell.

Speaking of Charles, he is now 6 months old.

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