I think a witch, or a voodoo haint has cast a damn spell on me . . . This crap has been going on for a week almost. I can't get into Chapter 8. I don't imagine I will be well enough to go the the book signing at the library tomorrow. That is not good, I could use the few buck I'd pick up in book sales.
I was born down south of that imaginary line. I loved it. I hated it. I left it. I returned. I love it again. I'm not as old as I hope to get, but still, I am far from being young. The clock is ticking, the wallpaper is drying,(metaphor for Jerry, eh? Y'all knew that though, didn't you? My brain cells are crumbling and I reckon it is now or never. Wasn't that a song back in the dark ages? Now or Never?
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