09/24/2020 Snippet, THE THING IN MY HIP FLASK.

Oh, good. I figured out how it ends.

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Farmer Pierce — well, Mister Pierce, now — at first did not want to meet me at all; and when we did meet, he insisted that it be in a particular gas station parking lot. When I pulled up, he was already there, and inside his sparkling clean truck. And he would not come out until after I actually called him again on his phone.

When he did get out, I was surprised: the man was wearing a plastic raincoat and rubber gloves over what looked like a disposable hospital gown and pants, a hairnet, and an environmental mask. He wouldn’t go more than six inches from his car, either, and insisted I stay well downwind.

I found this… well, I found this utterly typical of the region. “If I’d known you’d do this, I’d have gone with the call!” I half-shouted at him. “When do you wash yourself down with bleach?”

“I have some back at the new place!” he said back, and I don’t think he was joking. “But you seem like a nice girl, so I thought you should get warned face-to-face!”