The Maynard Gang

Before continuing our anecdotal Fourche River travelogue, another matter has arisen that needs to be addressed. Many of the Institute regulars of the Maynard Café also attend the Maynard Pitch Parlor. The two “good ole boy” enclaves together present an aggregate intellect that is staggering in both its breadth and its depth.
A fried rabbit, biscuit and gravy, and “fried tater” supper is soon to be scheduled. I have promised to serve possum and sweet potatoes on the same occasion. Reactions to the prospect of partaking of a marsupial entrée have been markedly varied. Some never have and never will. Some have not but might try it. Others might if they did not know what it was. Middlebrook sage Gary Hagood’s position is that he has but never will again.

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