God I miss the days when you could show up to a strangerβs farm and heβd say βWhatβs your name, boy?β and youβd take off your hat and hold it to your chest to better let him see your face and reply βWhy I ainβt got none, sir, on account of my mammy passed on before she could give me oneβ and heβd tell you heβs real damn sorry to hear that and ask what he can do you for and youβd tell him that you canβt read nor even write neither but youβre mighty good with horses and can mend them fallen fence posts what you saw on your way in and wonβt ask for nothing much more than a hot meal and a warm barn to sleep in and heβd keep his wife and daughters inside but send his boy who ainβt got married yet even though his mama tells him he needs a woman out with a lantern and some stew at night and the two of youβd get to talkin and heβd throw you his flask to take a swig from and watch you drinkin from it while he leant against the door frame and when he finally got called back on up to the house again heβd take a sip from it too real slow-like like it werenβt the whiskey what he were tryna savour


















