Fiction | June 01, 1998
Those Deep Elm Brown's Ferry Blues
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I heard a whippoorwill last night, the old man said.
Say you did? Rabon asked without interest. Rabon was just in from his schoolteaching job. He seated himself in the armchair across from the bed and hitched un his trouser legs and glanced covertly at his watch. The old man figured Rabon would put in his obligatory five minutes then go in his room and turn the stereo on.
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