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 An Egg, A Pickle and a Hardwood Floor

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By Grayland McConnell



ISBN 978-1-934936-53-5

Paperback-34 pages-$8.00


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An authentic snapshot of the True South with good ‘ole boys and the gals who keep ‘em straight. Witty and colorful in an idiom that all men of the True South will understand and appreciate.  


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The sun was still sleeping when Tommy brought his place to life. A flip of a couple switches transformed the morning darkness into an incan-descent brightened world. The exterior was illuminated by an orange neon sign on the front of the building that read, Tommy’s Shack.  Hobbled by time, Tommy limped across the room and sat down a plastic container of homemade, country ham biscuits.

The container rested upon an oak countertop. The counter was Tommy’s pride and joy; he found the piece, after it had been long forgotten in a friend’s old barn. Constructed when the country was at war with itself, the counter was the em-bodiment of the South. The wood was weathered, yet ornate.

The stains and scratches didn’t show years of abuse, but character, built by stories and lives of those from decade’s past, much like Tommy himself. Lying beside the biscuits was a remote for the television; a fifty inch, high-definition television which was connected to a satellite dish.

This particular media receptor was not like any other TV in the history of the device. Capable of tuning into over two hundred chan-nels, Tommy’s Shack only showed three: the local ABC network, for local news, the Weather Channel and FNN, the Fishing News Network.  A few minutes after arriving, a fresh pot of coffee fought with a wood stove, trying to establish a dominate smell.

The Shack, with its vintage Coca Cola coolers, dusty wood floors and sofas were a reflection of the owner. Tommy was closing in on sixty years old. Southern born and bred, he viewed the world in black and white, not by race but by values. A retired truck driver, the road had made him harder than most.

Those in society not wanting to follow rules and laws were considered prime candidates for extinction. Behind the thickened shell was a sensitive man; a man who’s eyes would well with emotion just as fast as his temper could be aroused. Tommy was a grandpa in training; his hair was salt and pepper, but the pepper was fading fast. His chubby cheeks demanded pinching, if anyone dared and his frame craved a Santa suit.  His intelligence shined through his country demeanor, while camouflaging the lack of a high school diploma.  The complexity of this simple man made his friends loyal and lifelong.