Redneck Press with Fried Chicken and Coffee

Stove up from work­ing the har­vest, Jessie hob­bled up the porch steps hold­ing his hand out for Chester. “Ches,” he called. The old blood­hound, “noth­ing but ears and ribs” snooz­ing in the shape of a ques­tion mark, usu­ally stum­bled up from his spot on a mildewed tarp behind a short-block motor when he heard Jessie […] ↓ Read the rest of this entry…