James surveyed the salvage operation, now nearly complete. The sum of his twenty-six years had been packed in a large suitcase, a garment bag, and four cardboard boxes, which were stacked neatly on the floor, ready to be shipped to his new place in Wisconsin. His flight to Madison from Manchester left at 6:05pm. If anything, he was ahead of schedule. He realized, much to his surprise, that he felt good; not quite happy, but good. He would travel the road not taken, after all.
Yes, one last mock draft for 2023. Yes, mock drafts are silly. I mean, it's right there in the title…
Mock. (1) To tease or laugh at in a scornful or contemptuous manner. (2) Not authentic or real.
Then again, what, exactly, is real?
What is it they say about insanity? Doing the same thing over and over but expecting a different outcome? Or is that the definition of a mock draft?
Yeah, I know. It's stupid. I'm just wasting time.
No, I wouldn't jump off a cliff if everyone else was doing it but, come on…
