I live in Appalachia. Supposedly, this, too, is North Carolina. I live here because it’s cheap. Economics is the great leveler. I eat what I can grow. Why is that supposed to be a humiliation. This is the land of No One Makes Much Around Here Anyway. We are not a museum. We see our village in travel brochures. The whole thing is one big hoha. How someone votes is seen as a private piece of business. They are not going to tell you and all of them are armed. I already know how every last one of my friends and neighbors will vote. It’s not a secret. Mainly, they won’t vote. I cannot even think of a time when people just spit on the ground. Try it. It says everything. I want to see the number of hands go up who think most of us low-lives will tell the truth to a journalist. Football used to attract us. Spit on the ground. We only have one issue that is tearing up the countryside. And you cannot even see it. City managers are the enemy. Garbage collection will be choked back because they need 12 million more chicken guts to build a new tourist office. And then, they need money to staff the place and tell lies about how friendly it is. The Grand Dragon city-manager loves development because development is money. The old oaks go first. Not unlike the rest of us. One piece at a time. One vote at a time. One forest fire at a time. Everything wrong with you comes down here. Stop it. Don’t come down here with your politik and your arrogance. Pull what weight. It’s raining bullfrogs.