Are You Ready?

“You go ‘round Austin, Atlanta, Athens – anywhere down there – and they sure as shoot ain’t makin’ no money playin’ psychedelica blues, “ Travis the Drummer said, flicking an ash and running a hand through his silver mullet. “If you want to make it, fellas, y’all best learn to play corporate rock.”

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Dot on a Map

The mill closed in ’86. All the jobs went south to Pascagoula, then China. Just when it seemed like the town’s best days had melted into the past, ol’ Whit Dippin got himself an epiphany: Ice cream of the future. All he needed was cash – cold, hard cash.

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Oh, Rivard!

“In therapy, he tells me, they play one thing,” Rivard said to his audience at the Madison Market checkout: A nosed-ring mom, two precocious babies and a cheese cracker display. “Tennis – no, Canadian rules tennis.” He stopped to let it sink in. “Canadian what? I said, ‘Hexty, no …’”

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Convenient Liaisons

He was a lizard in a phone salesman’s clothes. She was a pure barracuda. Little did they know, they were both packing heat. They smacked lips, grabbed their order to go and zipped west in her candy-colored Camry, looking for the next big thing and – if time – a Crates & Curtains.

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Bus to Bruges

An acclaimed Doctor of Antiquities, people once gossiped about him in five tongues. Now, he was just some fat guy in a djellaba with a big wallet and ugly mug. He gripped the dusty satchel of relics at his side. “Forty quid gets a spot in the back,” the smuggler snorted. “But no bags, mate.”

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