May 26th, 2005
Last time I was hanging in a New York Country Song my Uncle John was dead. We had always had great adventures with Uncle John and our cousins so there was no question about going to his funeral. Afterwards me and Unca Dan went to his house, a rambling broken down federal style farm house at the end of a Steven King road. There was a HUGE barn across from the house and a children of the corn field surrounding everything. Big as an ocean, with a star filled sky covering everything like a blanket. All told, very cool and comforting...very Uncle John-ish.
After hanging with the extended family for a while we found ourselves at a roadhouse, drinking drafts, listening to Molly Hatchet, Lynyrd Skynyrd and eating pickled eggs. I'll never forget those eggs for as long as I live! God they were bad! Sour and cardboard-ish.
Naturally, that was a great time! Hanging with my bro. Telling stories of Uncle John, Bernie & Timmy; spinning straw to gold, crushing coal into diamonds, molding Kodak moments into my mind.
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