An English In Kentucky


















Wednesday January 30th 2013    Tim Candler

    A morning that will live in infamy. Weather Radio siren made the most appalling noise off and on, from two thirty until six in the a.m.  And a telephone call from  an automated device advising me to take cover within a secure building, and there I was thinking of going outside for a cigarette and a stroll.  It was seventy two degrees, Fahrenheit.  Now it is raining, and by ten o'clock tonight, temperatures will be in the mid twenties, Fahrenheit. By tomorrow night there could be an inch of snow, I have been cheerfully informed.

     In the junior dormitory at school, it was never a good idea to jump around on the beds and make noises after the lights were switched out. It wasn't good for the beds, and it interfered with the beer drinking of those in charge of us.  Our fourteen foot Black Mamba, against whom we so bravely had battled was a two foot Tree Snake and quite harmless.  A slightly inebriated school master picked up the snake by the scruff of its little neck, returned the snake to the senior dormitory, and spent the remainder of his evening shouting at them.

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