Smokey Mountain Breakdown

I hope everyone is having a very happy Thanksgiving eve and week. I went into town to pay bills and do all that nice market day stuff. I dropped off the manuscript thus for for "Jo-Jo and The Chicken Boy" at the feed store. I'm going there Monday in hopes of talking to some cockers (usually when I write that it means cocker spaniels...but these are the chicken fighting folk). I've never attended a match and have just met the chickens at the markets so I want to get a real feel for what it is like to be there at a cockfighting bout. I don't even know if they have concessions at them. So that's the sort of thing I want to know. What does it smell, taste, feel like. Is it bright or dim? I'll probably go by the library and read more old papers.

When I was there last time reading about the floods, I came across an article about this old man who lived in a one room tar paper shack with his dog on Cosby Highway. The roof let the water just come down in sheets when it rained. One of the local men's groups was taking a collection to help him out. But for some reason, his story just sort of stuck with me. I think there will be a December story about him...or based on the idea of him. I wonder what ever happened to him? This was over 40 years ago.

I stopped by the vet to take care of the three bucks and change still owed on Fat Buddy. While I was there, a man came in with a sweet little old pug dog. I love pug dogs. There is something adorable about their ugliness and their very impracticability. Pugs just don't work right. I mean, they just aren't designed properly. Anyway, this man was a dead ringer for his dog. They looked so alike and I did have my camera in my car and I really wanted to take a photo. But I was struck by shyness and he was just dropping the old girl off there. She had a rhinestone collar on.

I'd like to wish all of you here in the States a very happy Thanksgiving. I'm cooking a ham. Try not to eat too much, and do save room for some delicious "Porn and Donuts". The third installment is up on EditRed.

Here's just a tad...

Rupert Mims sat behind the shabby counter topped with cracked green linoleum. He’d dozed off to the buzzing whine of the Nascar race he was watching on his small television set. The walls were hung with a variety of Nascar memorabilia with a special place of pride given to a large portrait of Dale Earnhardt with Jesus. Jesus towered in the background with his arms out, embracing the grandstand and track of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Dale was decked out in his racing regalia in front of Number 3 while Jesus towered over him smiling benignly. The caption read, “God’s Own Driver, The Father, The Son and The Intimidator”.

Lucius came in and banged on the counter. Rupert gave a snore like a chainsaw failing to start and blinked up at Lucius with eyes buried in the fat of his cheeks. He tugged his shirt down to cover his wide expanse of furry belly and rocked his chair up from a reclining position.

“What’chu want, Lucius? You got some money for me I hope?”