Back in my day, we didn’t settle neighborly disputes with polite phone calls or lawyers — we settled ‘em with tomatoes. It was the summer of ’58, hotter than the devil’s armpit and twice as sticky, when my cousin Skeeter decided Old Man Rutledge’s prize beefsteaks looked better on our porch than his.Now, Skeeter weren’t much for stealth. He waltzed right through Rutledge’...
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