three years ago we went to the Ozark Mountains in Arkansas and spent several days having our lives threatened by a terribly well groomed hill person named Matt Yarborough. His family owned peach farms and meth labs and rattlesnakes and he grew up in Clarksville, no, Oark, no, Mulberry, anyway he said he grew up in every town in west central Arkansas and he had these migraines that just would NOT GO AWAY and man it just made him crazy! Made him Crazy! Do ya’ll ever get migraines? They make me crazy!
Later we drove away from our campsite to a motel, we were screaming and there were a dozen or so dogs sitting pretty placed along the side of the road for a mile or two stretch, sitting and staring at us driving through the fog. It was late at night, there were mountains, and we thought about a lot of words in between lighting panicked cigarettes and experiencing fits of terror when we would see scary hill person Matt Yarborough’s headlights driving behind us. She was crooked and steep, may her soul rot in hell, were some of those words and they are still stuck in my head.