The Neo-Retro Movement

The reality hit Wildred like a cold, scaly slap to the face: For years, he’d immersed himself in joyless tasks. The moment called for a clean break. No more toiling in teal. Today, he would paint from the black, briny depths of his soul. He slapped down a clean mug and began anew.

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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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