It was a place of barefooted children with empty bellies and mongrel dogs that snarled.
It was a place of water moccasins that hid under mimosa trees and crabs that clung to the wooden handled dip net that left splinters in my palms.
It was a place where the sun heated the clods of earth pushed aside by the road scraper. Where the names on the stones in the Foreman graveyard where worn away beyond reading so Addie and I were left to re-christen our ancestors who had been dead for a long time. Caleb. Minnie. Grover
It was a place where our refreshment came in cold glass bottles from the ice bin in the store at the end of the road. Nehi. Orange Crush. Dr. Pepper.
It was a place where grandmama spit into a Luzianne coffee can and granddaddy dozed over his latest issue of The Grit while the wisteria choked the trees in the side yard.
It was a place where the carpets were worn out, the people were worn out and the piano was out of tune.