A Blueberry Buckle for Woody
Back in my New Hampshire days, I shared a border on one side with the White Mountain National Forest and on the other with a dirt road that, depending on the season, would either swallow unwary cars in mud, or snap their axles on a gauntlet of washboards, potholes and outright ditches. This stretch of road being something of a gold mine for them, the local tow truck drivers would always smile and wave as they made their way…
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