Please Don’t Hit Me

640px-Opossum_roadkill_Heth_AR

When I was young, "going to town" is what we in the foothills of Appalachia considered an awfully big deal. We’d all get quite excited, drest in clean and un-torn clothes (there weren’t many of these), put on shoes, and pile into my factory-working father’s car. We lived about 30 miles from the “town,” which bore the Shawnee name for town, so it was perhaps not all that odd that we called it town. “Town” meant something akin to what one imagines a peasant thought of as “going … [Read more...]


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