Snoot Creedwell was known to run hooch. He was a good, old soul, if you talked to many of the dirt farmers around our area. He was also known to be free with the product he produced, and would pass the jug to the locals who visited his shack.
Snoot was as secretive about the locations of his stills as an old maid about her virginity. But he always kept a few quarts and jugs hidden around his sheds for 'comp'ny.'
That was one of the reasons, I believe, that my father and Snoot got along so well. Snoot had the hooch, and my father liked to drink as much free whiskey as his hob-nailed liver would allow.
Too much liquor clouds the brain and dulls the senses.
Maybe he fell asleep at the wheel, nodding off before he sent the rusty pickup careening over the side of Bent Mountain. Maybe he swerved to miss a deer. But I could never visualize my father stomping on the gas pedal and deliberately sending his truck over the side like a meteor brought to a blazing end by gravity.
My father was not that brave.
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Love Songs: The Wrong Note - A Collection of Short Stories
General FictionA second volume of short stories in the Love Songs collection. Many of the stories in this collection focus on the theme of love and how it sometimes goes wrong. A large collection of stories that run the gamut from humorous to tragic. 1. Love Songs...
