At the end of the road where we are renting just now is a very nasty looking little house. Only a dim light ever shines through the window, nobody in the neighborhood knows who lives there, it kind of freaks those of us with kids out, particularly cuz there's a path leading past it that goes through the woods to a place where other kids live, so it's a natural place for kids to walk. In front of the house are an old Chrysler K car wagon and a Nissan truck, both of them derelict, rotting into the earth.
It is, in short, a mystery, but no longer.
At Johnny's this evening, I ran into Rick, of longtime local and touring band Southern Culture on the Skids. The house, it turns out, is occupied by Mary, the bass player, who has maintained a largely nocturnal schedule. Figures. The big white van that is sometimes parked out front was, in fact, the clue I expected: a rock and roller lives here, not an actual axe murderer, just someone who cultivates that aesthetic.
The sheer volume of inappropriate enhancement comments upon this blog is amazing! You should write a book.
ReplyDeleteOh, all the enhancement pseudo-spam is the love child of a talented dedicated team of commenters over the course of years. I am eternally grateful for all of their good work, if occasionally embarassed by the really stupid ones.
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