Old white guy living in South-central Texas.
The Federal subsidies expired.
Top hats came in different heights, with several shorter than the stovepipe hat.
Ding, ding, ding, ding!
The Pearl, by John Steinbeck.
Like he did the last one. Used an imaginary plaque as well.
Maybe she’d be amused in a parlor with bread and honey.
I think that’s what he wanted to say, but didn’t.
I have read that a rifled slug fired from a 12 gauge shotgun has sufficient power to kill any animal that has ever lived on Earth (assuming it hits a vital spot). Kind of puts the lie to those SciFi monster movies where even jet planes and tanks can’t get the job done.
No sense playing too hard to get. At a John Denver concert many years ago, he came back for an encore and explained his theory about how long to stay off-stage between main act and encore: Go behind the curtain, and touch the wall, then return. He said he didn’t want to stay gone so long that people started leaving. On the one year anniversary of his death I was in Monterey, California, and went down to the bay where he touched his final wall, and sang a few of his songs, audience = one = me. I stayed quite a long time, but it started getting dark. Go home, said the man in the moon, go home.