What's the point of rain if it's not gonna snow this close to christmas? "You'd think that with this much damn rain it'd be cold enough to snow!" I said to myself as i arrived in town. Matthew Thomas Rockwell editor in chief of the Daily Vowel. Current where a bouts unknown, but for now i was in this miserably rainy but not in the english sense of the word, one horse town. The streets of which were as lonesome and forlorn as any Hank Williams song, and as it was nearly 7:00, they were about to be rolled up to protect it's way of life. Any establishment open any later would surely threaten the very moral fiber that had been its very foundation for the past 100 years. And who would dare threaten that? Not in this weather anyway.
My phone was vibrating off the hook, in the pocket of my trousers. Mary Magdalen wanted to meet for some imported coffee. And so away i went. After all who the hell was supposed to fill me in on who'd been running this three ring circus? coffee or not i needed to know.
As usual i was late. I came bearing the crucifix and not just one but three. If these people have a fear of anything, it's the fear of the almighty. I quickly calculated that three rosaries would equal one hundred and fifty hail marys. It would have to suffice.
After the pleasantries were exchanged like money from liar to a thief, she insisted we add a third member to our hunting party. the coffee was getting to her. i insisted she drive. I didn't know where to go. After all this was the wild frontier. And who would be the king now that we had lost Davey Crocket? It certainly wasn't going to be me. And just who was behind all of this hocus pocery? i demanded answers. she drove like hell.
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