Losing them, fixing them, forgetting to put them in
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Charles M. Francum is a writer by inclination, a musician at heart, and a carpenter by trade.
I went to a side show at the county fair. It was housed in a small trailer with a South Sea Island scene painted on the side. “Paradise on Earth,” the sign proclaimed. So I paid my quarter and went into a bare room with a table in the middle.
Henry Huggins was one of the best liars in the county. He was a short, stocky, red-faced man with squinty eyes and a waxed handle-bar mustache. He wore bib overalls and a dirty broadbrim hat pulled down so far it bent the tops of his ears over. He read nickel Westerns and sat around the general store telling elaborate lies.