by Bill & Betty Reed Denton, TX
The mail plane landed on the dirt runway with a few bumps. An old jalopy covered with dust inside and out pulled up, and out stepped a man who’d probably never shaved or had a haircut. His hat was a proud one; sweat-stained and with a cracked rim, it had the gritty reminders of good times pasted all over it.
He greeted Tom, our pilot, and we all jumped into his car. He raised the hood, fiddled underneath and slammed it down.
Off we went to the tune of “zeeee zawwww zeee zawww,” the sound caused by a broken door...
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