It was a good life in Sawyerville; clean air, peace and
quiet, friendly people. The only
downside, Griff reflected, was its proximity to the university, which led to
periodic infestations of bros.
“Reckon it’s ‘bout time y’all three hopped along,” he said,
approaching his current crop of overloud teenagers. “Y’all had more’n enuff t’drank.”
“What’ll you do if we don’t, Gramps?” asked the largest one. “Call the sheriff?”
“Naw,” Griff said. “I
got someone better. “Hey, Hopalong!”
A furry mountain grumbled as it rose. The bros paled and huddled together.
“What’d y’all think that ‘postrophe was fer?” Griff asked,
grinning.
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