HAVE IT YOUR WAY – OR GOD’S
When Lars and I lived in Georgia he took me one Saturday night to a place called “Swampland” in the little country town of Toomsboro. It comprised a barnlike eating place and a barnlike auditorium where there was a gospel singing jamboree from four until midnight. As we sat at a long table with a lot of people we didn’t know, eating our catfish and hush puppies (there wasn’t much else on the menu), we noticed an odd person standing by the fireplace. He was a kind of middle-aged hippie. He had long gray hair like a broom. He was wearing baggy patched pants, a jacket with fringes (some of them on purpose and some just tatters), a pistol belt, and a hat that was so greasy Lars said it would burn for a week if it ever caught fire. Every now and then he gave the logs on the fire a poke or two, but seemed…
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