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Alone and Acoustic

Alone and Acoustic By Bill Stork, DVM It was half-past New Year’s, and a quarter ‘til St. Patrick’s Day. Outside Tyranena Brewing Company it was dark as a suit closet and colder than the front door of a Catholic Church at a January confession. Inside, it was the middle of the second set, and hotter than Kingston Mines 1969. The Cash Box Kings were all lathered up. I turned the fourth bar stool to face the band, and rested mug thirty eight on a coaster at the polished patch on the rail. My standing request at those mid-winter gigs when the temperature struggles to see a single digit is Sonny Boy Williamson’s “Nine Below Zero.” White-ass Joe Nosek kicked off the classic with ten bars of half-h

Just stop by...

Just stop by By Bill Stork, DVM Butch and Judy wouldn’t let their daughter Sheila ride her pony until they got out of bed on Saturday mornings. The Barnes family had milked cows for thirty years. They sold the herd and took up over-the-road trucking. So, when they were home, they didn’t always see dawn on weekends. The little red-headed cherub would con her oldest brother Ty into helping her saddle Cheyenne. She rode through the dooryard, down the laneway to the marsh and back. She’d un-saddle, dry him off, feed him a flake of hay and a scoop of sweet feed and be back in the house before mom and dad stirred. Before he could pry his lids open, she’d beg her dad to help her saddle up the tired

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