I live in rural Georgia. Yesterday I visited my local laundramat. The fellow next to me was washing two loads of camouflage clothes while talking on his cellphone about the hunt that evening. I asked him what was in season and he told me “We go coon huntin’!” He then proceeded to talk at me at great length about the disastrous hunt the night before with his buddies “Hoss”, “Mange”, and some kid. It was disastrous because their pack of dogs was hit by a car as they crossed a highway, killing two of them. One dog was only five months old and was just bought by the kid for $400. “I sure felt bad for that kid,” he told me. They were going right back out that night.
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