Only the Good Die Young
It’s nearly midnight. The Thanksgiving celebration has been rocking for hours. The turkey carcass sits like a vociferous wart amid the near-empty bowls of veggies and stuffing on the long row of buffet tables in Old Man Thompson’s barn. Every member of the Moore family is in attendance. I know. I hear you asking what I’m doing here as I’m not related to anyone in Uncertain, Florida let alone the Moore clan. The answer is that they wouldn’t take no for an an...