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mogai-sunflowers · 1 year

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MOGAI BHM- Day 1!

Happy BHM! To celebrate the first day of Black History Month, I figured I’d make my first post about the history of BHM itself! i highly recommend you read the whole post, but if you do genuinely struggle with reading very long posts, I will have a summary/conclusion at the end!

Carter G. Woodson-

[Image ID: A black-and-white, portrait-style photograph of Carter G. Woodson. He is thin, Black with a medium-dark skin tone, and is wearing a black suit jacket over a white button-up collared shirt with a necktie that is grey with small white polka dots. He is wearing his hair in corn rows, and has a somewhat solemn expression on his face. End ID.]

The history of Black History Month would be entirely incomplete without discussing Carter G. Woodson! Woodson never in his lifetime got to see official establishments and celebrations of BHM, but he is nevertheless integral to its history.

Carter G. Woodson was born in 1875. Growing up, he was quite poor, and his schooling was very limited- he was mostly self taught. He taught himself basic subjects, and he graduated from high school only two years after entering. He worked in West Virginian coal mines to earn additional income for his family.

From an early age, Woodson was interested in teaching and history. Before getting his bachelors degree in literature from Kentucky’s Berea College, he worked as both a teacher and a school principal, and after graduating with his bachelor’s degree, he went on to travel Europe and Asia before returning to America to earn a master’s degree from the University of Chicago, and he then became the second Black American to ever attend and graduate from Harvard University. Eventually, he became the Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences at Howard University, an HBCU!

The ASNLH, ‘N*gro History Week’, And More

[Image ID: A newspaper clip from 1976. The newspaper clip has three columns of content- the right and left columns are text, and the central column is a picture of Carter G. Woodson’s face with his name as a caption. The title of the article is written across the whole top of the clipping and it reads: “Carter Woodson: Father Of Black History Month In U.S.” The text in both columns reads:

“Editor’s Note: Today marks the beginning of Black History Month, which continues through Feb. 29. In observance of this period, we think it appropriate to begin by running this article by Howard James Jones, who writes a column entitled, “Black Folk In American Civilization”, which runs in the Daily World.

February is celebrated as Black History Month. It received this designation as a result of the dream of one man who was able to work with a number of other persons to make this dream a reality. This seer was that he could do research for his dissertation at the Library of Congress. In 1909, he began teaching French, Spanish, English, and History in the public schools of the District of Columbia. In 1912, his dissertation, “The Disruption of Virginia”, was accepted by Harvard and he was awarded the degree of Doctor of Philosophy. Afterwards, he served as Dean of The School of Liberal Arts at Howard University, but left because he did not agree with certain administration policies. He eventually gave up teaching altogether for this same reason.”

End ID.]

In the summer of 1915, Woodson attended an event which celebrated the 50th anniversary of emancipation. While the event was wildly popular and successful, it also coincided with Woodson being barred from conferences at the AHA, the American History Association. He realized that his goal of celebrating and recording Black history could not be achieved simply working within the framework of the AHA, so in 1915, he founded the Association for the Study of N*gro Life and History, or the ASNLH, which still exists today under the name the Association for the Study of African American Life and History, ASALH.

In 1916, he founded the Journal of N*gro History, which to this day remains a published journal under the name the Journal of African American History. The award-winning journal highlights stories from Black history and offers book reviews as well.

Woodson’s fraternity brothers sided with him when they helped him found N*gro History and Literature Week, later renamed N*gro Achievement Week, in 1924. While it had a significant impact, Woodson was not fully satisfied with it and wanted to go further. So, in February of 1926, he established what would, in 50 years, become Black History Month- N*gro History Week.

Celebrations of N*gro History Week spread rapidly. They popped up all over the USA, and Woodson along with the ASNLH provided annual themes, study materials, and incentives for celebrations. The spread of N*gro History Week was massive. Official celebrations were established by political leaders, and many schools began forming N*gro History clubs.

Woodson’s Concerns-

While Woodson was definitely pleased with the reaction to N*gro History Week, he still had many concerns about it. Although he chose the second week of February to celebrate the week due to many Black communities across America celebrating the birthdays of Abraham Lincoln and Frederick Douglass, both of which occur in the second week of February, he personally disapproved of those celebrations because he believed that they gave to much emphasis to one or two great people, instead of highlighting the history of Black people as a whole.

This concern he brought to N*gro History Week- he worried that people would start only celebrating certain huge figures from Black history instead of celebrating all the Black people from Black history, whether or not they personally made huge advancements, because he believed that the greatness of Black history came not from a few important individuals, but from every single Black American.

Another concern that Woodson had was with the performativity of many N*gro History Week celebrations. He observed that, while many people did genuinely engage in celebrations, many also used it as an opportunity to appear progressive than to actually celebrate Black history. He believed that, if Black history were ever to be truly respected, it must not be confined to a singular week or period of time, but instead must be a constant, never-ceasing pursuit- year-round instead of confined to a time period.

Black History After Woodson-

Rest in power to Carter G. Woodson, who passed away on April 3, 1950.

In the 1950s and 1960s, Woodson’s legacy lived on. The drive to celebrate and commemorate Black history showed up in larger movements for racial change. The Freedom Schools of the South incorporated Black history into their curriculums, Black teachers fought for recognition of Black history within schools, and Woodson’s ASNLH continued to fight for institutional change regarding the celebration of Black history.

In 1976, the first American president officially endorsed February as Black History Month. Every president since has similarly endorsed it. To this day, Black History Month is a thriving celebration, in America and across the world. Although Carter G. Woodson didn’t survive to see the first official celebrations of Black History Month, his legacy lives on through BHM- and so does his call to a genuine commitment to anti-racism and Black history.

Summary/Conclusion/Key Points-

- Carter G. Woodson was a man dedicated to the pursuit of documenting, teaching, learning, and celebrating Black history. He was a teacher, a scholar, and a historian.

- In 1915, Woodson founded the ASNLH to promote independent institutionalization of Black history and its education. The next year, he founded the Journal of N*gro History. Both of these things still exist to this day.

- In 1926, Woodson founded N*gro History Week, which rapidly spread throughout the following decades. It was wildly popular and important, but also raised concerns about performativity.

- Woodson passed away in 1950. After his death, efforts to improve the education about Black history continued, especially in the South with activism from Black teachers.

- In 1976, Black History Month was first celebrated officially across America in February. Woodson’s legacy lives on to this day through BHM.

- While BHM is just a month long, Black history is constant and is not confined to one month of the year. Honor Black history in all you do, not just in February but at any and all opportunities across the whole year.

Sources-

Carter G. WoodsonDr. Carter Godwin Woodson, distinguished Black author, editor, publisher, and historian, recognized for his role in establishing Black HistoNAACP

University of Chicago Press Journals: Cookie absentRCNI COMPANY LIMITED

Origins of Black History Month – ASALH – The Founders of Black History MonthASALH.ORG

Black History MonthFebruary is Black History Month. Paying tribute to the generations of African Americans who struggled with adversity to achieve full citizeBLACKHISTORYMONTH.GOV

#mogai #mogai bhm #mogai community #blm #black lives matter #bhm #black history month

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dispatchvampire · 3 months

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Close Encounters of the Preferred Kind - (MCU/Justified Crossover)

Part 2 in my wholly unintentional Two Snipers series.

Rating: PG-13

Fandom: Justified/The Avengers (MCU) Crossover (kinda)

Pairing: Clint Barton/Tim Gutterson

Word Count: 2066

Warnings: Fluff (kinda sorta, if you squint), canon level violence, aliens, cussing, a lot of cussing.

Summary: Set after the events of 'Bad Mistakes (I've Made A Few)', this is the second meeting of our fateful couple, with aliens invading, families meeting, and, of course, Tim's long-suffering boss, Chief Deputy Marshal Art Mullen. Life gets messy when worlds collide.

Author’s Notes: 100% did not intend to write a follow-up to BM, but these two don't really do things on my timeline or my schedule. Anyway, the idea of this made me laugh, this is what happens when you introduce your Boo to your people, and everybody had issues. Oh, and the mood board was all me, with picture credit going to their varying photographers.

Eastern Kentucky is not where one expects Armageddon to start, but there it is and there they are.

“What the fuck am I looking at, Art?” the sniper asked his superior officer as he stared unflinchingly down his rifle scope. When he’d gotten the call that all hell had broken loose in Noble’s Holler, Tim figured it was more methed up psychopaths who were unclear on the local mayor’s penchant for pig sticking. Purple creatures falling out of a hole in the sky with more tentacles than a jellyfish was not on his bingo card.

“I got no idea,” the older man answered, never once looking up from his binoculars, “but my suggestion is nothing but headshots.” He paused as he loaded his own rifle and stretched out on a bluff overlooking the mayhem next to Tim. To look at the Chief Deputy in his tie and button down shirt, he didn’t seem the type to get down on the ground and dirty, but most folks underestimated him to their peril. The man taught at Glynco and was a badass well before Tim got proficient with a slingshot, much less a rifle. “Assuming that those are actually their heads.”

“Copy that.” There was nothing quite as satisfying as brass ejecting from the port and watching his target become iridescent green mist.

Alien invasions were not generally the purview of the United States Marshals Service, but occasionally, needs must.

The giant millipedes had massive tentacles and leathery purple skin which was impervious to conventional small arms fire; the only thing that seemed to fell the murderous, marauding bastards was a shot through he presumed was the eye, a target approximate the size of a navel orange, or through the mouth, an open maw about the size of a peach. Luckily, the produce section had never been an issue for Tim.

He’d been shooting and reloading for the better part of an hour after the damn portal opened up, doing his best to defend Ellstin Limehouse’s normally quiet enclave as best he could. It was the least he could do, even if he didn’t exactly trust the guy. Their interpersonal issues had nothing to do with the welfare of the innocents being set upon by these nightmare fuel monstrosities.

Correction: “By comparison, my nightmares are a breeze.”

When the first creature fell without his intervention, Tim was startled enough to jerk back from the ledge and take his eyes off the scope, just in time to see the honest-to-God Captain America shield go flying past the end of his rifle, taking out a creature coming up on his flank that he’d missed before bouncing back to its owner with disturbing accuracy.

“I am entirely too old for this shit,” Art grumbled as he rolled away from the edge to reload his rifle with all the annoyance and irritation of a deluge of Friday afternoon paperwork.

“I will be goddamned,” Tim murmured reverently as his brain processed what was happening. Creatures began falling left, right, and center as a roaring overhead signaled the arrival of Iron Man while the roaring on the ground was the giant green menace known as the Hulk ripping through these things like they were made of tissue paper. But that wasn’t what held his interest.

There, big as life and dressed in form-fitting purple and black kevlar, was the luscious not-so-little secret he’d been keeping since his detail in DC. What should have been a routine job a couple months ago turned into a three-night-stand for the duration of the operation, and then some flirty texts back and forth and more than the occasional round of phone sex in the time intervening. None of that could have prepared him for seeing Clint in action up close and personal.

The armless black suit emphasized every unreasonably pretty inch of the man, from his ridiculous arms that wielded a bow as ably as he hefted his own rifle, shot after unerring shot bounding and leaping nimbly from cover to cover, down to the perfect cupcake ass that fit in his hands just so. Goddamn the man was so pretty he could be considered a potentially lethal distraction.

“You gonna watch or are you gonna shoot?” Raylan demanded from his right as he stretched out on the ground with a rifle to join the party. The cowboy had been late to the party since he and Rachel had been left to man the office in Lexington, but once gunplay became the order of the day, Tim knew it was only a matter of time before the man in the infamous tan hat showed up. That he was able to convince Rachel, their normally by-the-book and most level-headed colleague, to come out on an alien invasion spoke to the man’s ability to charm the devil himself out of his seat in Hell.

“Fuck you,” Tim snarled, but without any heat behind it as he took up his position again and began firing once more at the few remaining creatures on the ground below them.

From start to finish was just under three hours of sustained fire, and when Tim finally rose to his feet to survey the area, the story was told in the sea of expended brass cartridges and rivers of green blood running through the streets of the valley below. Black trucks were rolling in from both sides of the holler with SHIELD logos on them, signaling the cleanup crew.

“You know what time it is now, right?” Raylan asked with a devilish grin as he doffed his hat to shrug out of his ballistic vest. He’d stripped down to a form-fitting white t-shirt and looked more like he’d been called in from a day off than from a day at the office.

“What’s that?” Art demanded as the guys helped him to his feet, brushing an annoyed hand over the wrinkles and streaks of dirt that his wife Leslie would likely fuss over later. After she yelled at him about going out on an alien invasion not two months out of a stint at the heart hospital.

With a shiteating grin and the pop of a peppermint Altoid in his mouth, Raylan nodded toward the collection of superheroes at the edge of the fray, watching the cleanup proceedings begin and talking amongst themselves. “The interagency debrief, of course!” He was off before anyone had a chance to contradict him, leaving Tim, Rachel, and Art to chase after the cocksure cowboy.

“Can’t get him to even look at paperwork any other time,” Rachel grumbled as they slowly approached the other group.

“This ain’t paperwork,” Tim replied, though his eyes were on one thing and one thing only.

Like they had a mind of their own, his feet carried him right up until he was close enough to tap Clint on the shoulder. “How do, stranger.”

The pure joy on the man’s face when he turned around did funny, fizzy things to his insides that he was loath to examine, and were dangerously close to giddy. The man smelled like sweat and looked like heaven, and fuck if all he wanted to do was run his hands over those arms that had held him up against a wall more than once. As it was, he was standing closer than was strictly necessary and well beyond the bounds of ‘just friends reuniting’. The desire to wrap his arms around the man was damn difficult to quell.

“I wondered if I’d get to see you,” the archer replied with a shy smile and flushed cheeks. “I mean, I’d hoped,” he rambled on, “but then—” he gestured at the carnage behind him.

For a moment, it was like the world had winnowed down to just the two of them. “I get it. I’m glad you’re here now, though.”

“Me too.”

And then the moment was broken by the diminutive redhead standing next to them elbowing Clint in the ribs. “Who’s your friend, Barton?” She was equally clad in black, the kevlar skating over and highlighting every single curve and hollow, highlighting both the beauty and the danger that she embodied.

Rolling his eyes, Clint took half a step back to face her more fully. “Nat, this is Tim Gutterson of the Marshals.”

Her green eyes lit up as her lips curved into a mischievous smirk. “The hottie you told me about from a couple months ago in DC?”

The blond’s eyes widened comically as his face shifted from flushed to pale to tomato red with alarming speed. “Real subtle, Nat.”

If his face felt hot before, now it felt like the skin was melting off of him. The idea of Clint talking about him, to Black Widow of all people, combined with the adrenaline dump of the situation only added to the feeling of surreal dissociation. Feeling a bit cheeky, he grinned slyly as he looked Clint up and down. “Talking about me, Clint? My heart’s a-flutter with curiosity.”

“Deputy Gutterson, you gonna introduce your friends?” Art’s voice was a bucket of cold water down his back as he suddenly remembered both his location and his audience.

From Raylan’s grin, he knew he would never EVER live this down, no matter how many terrible situations the cowboy’s penchant for prohibited pussy landed them in, and Rachel? Well, she was the office master interrogator for a reason and he knew damn sure that he would be spilling everything he knew to her before they made it to the Lexington city limits.

“Chief Deputy Art Mullen, this is Clint Barton of the Avengers and …” he trailed off, uncertain how to introduce the Black Frickin’ Widow.

She stepped up and shook Art’s hand like a practiced politician. “Natasha Romanov. Lovely to meet you.”

The older man smiled and, while Tim couldn’t swear to it, appeared to blush like a schoolboy. “Likewise.”

Not to be outdone, Raylan smoothly inserted himself between them with his hand out and his 1000 megawatt gunslinger charm turned to ‘thermonuclear’. “Raylan Givens, Miss Romanov. Longtime admirer of your work.”

She giggled. The assassin actually fucking giggled and her nose wrinkled. “You can call me Natasha.”

Art watched this scene, the four of them talking amongst themselves, with apocalyptic levels of horror dawning on his face. The sheer amount of paperwork Raylan and Tim, hell Raylan by himself most days, generate was enough to fell a small forest. These folks together were an environmental crime waiting to happen. The potential bodycount of a Raylan and Romanoff team-up was nothing short of an imminent violation of the Geneva Convention. “Oh absolutely fucking not.”

All four heads turned in his direction, Raylan’s mouth already open and ready to rock, but he was having none of the bullshit.

“You,” Art pointed to the cowboy, “get in the car.”

“Bu—”

“Nope,” he held up the finger of doom, the finger of ‘unpaid time off if he kept on,’ it 3was one they were all exceptionally familiar with. “Car. Now.” Turning to Tim, he softened a bit. “Say your goodbyes, we have paperwork.”

Rather than argue, Tim merely nodded, cringing when he turned to face Clint. “Dad says I gotta go.”

Clint’s smirk was nothing short of wicked and it was suddenly a billion degrees around Tim. “I’ll be around tonight if you wanna meet up.”

“I’d like that just fine.” Anything else he wanted to say was cut off at a sound he rarely heard outside of the comforts of her mother’s house. A sound that stripped away the years and the edge to reveal a girl much more carefree. Deputy Marshal Rachel ‘I make suspects cry for funsies’ Brooks was standing off to the side and making googoo eyes at none other than the Brooklyn Boys. Captain Frickin America and the Winter Goddamn Soldier were flirting with his best friend and putting their numbers in her phone.

“See what you did?” Art demanded from behind him as he leaned against the closed passenger door of the sedan that sealed Raylan inside.

“Me?” Tim demanded in affront. “How is this my fault?”

Art’s face was a mask of vaguely amused sarcasm. “You’re a bad influence.”

“Well, now that’s just hurtful. Besides,” he threw his rifle bag in the trunk before slinking into the back seat on the driver’s side and meeting his friend’s eyes in the rearview mirror, “I thought that was Raylan.”

#avengers fan fiction #justified fanfiction #justified #justified fic #tim gutterson #tim gutterson fic #clint barton x tim gutterson #clint barton fanfiction #clint barton #avengers crossover fic #avengers and justified crossover #justified crossover fic #my writing

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petruchio · 5 months

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Also can we talk about those little Appalachian culture moments?

I actually grew up there (Chattanooga outskirts, so not SUPER Appalachian, but enough LOL) and when we moved to the Midwest I suddenly realized that traits I’d never considered before were betraying me! Specifically how I talked! Like even my most professional voice sounded so painfully Tennessee Valley-Appalachian and it was incredibly othering.

I never considered how Lucy Grey would definitely have an accent until she opened her mouth in the Capitol and suddenly had such a noticeable one!!! I felt so seen!! You never think about how you talk at home, you’re just normal. Until suddenly you’re an outsider every time you speak. It’s a moment I’ve felt before, and it was extremely effective on-screen!

Then when Coryo comes to 12 the inversion of that is incredibly fulfilling - especially the bar scene!

When Maude ivory jumps on stage and announces the next set and it’s almost unintelligible, I about lost it!!!! It was so funny, and I felt so seen again! Like yeah that’s exactly like what that feels like lmao! You bring your boyfriend home and he literally can’t understand your family’s dialect 😭😂 (and also he’s now painfully aware of just how much you change your voice to be understood)

I thought that was great and really added to the feeling of Coryo and Lucy’s respective othering in each other’s communities!

YES!

i LOVED lucy gray's accent -- in my head i always imagined her sounding kind of like dolly parton (i think it's something about the way the scene in the hob is written -- something about her dialogue just sounds so dolly-ish to me) and i loved that they really leaned into it (and it supports my theory that part of the reason jlaw and jhutch were cast in the og movies is bc they're both from kentucky, even if they don't have super strong accents, haha!)

and i feel like it really emphasizes one of my personal favorite themes from tbosas which is the way political resistance is woven into the fabric of american folk music and so much of that tradition does grow out of appalaicha and the particular and specific music tradition of that area. (and why me and the queen herself rachel zegler are both galaxy brains for putting bob dylan on our lucy gray baird fanmix playlists because bob dylan is one of the foremost figures in the american folk revival movement of the 1960s and so much of his songwriting derives from appalachian folk traditions!) (well technically miss rachel put a joan baez cover of dylan on her playlist but, like, she gets it; it's all about folk music and politics and art as revolutionary)

#answered #anonymous #tbosas #this answer is much less coherent HAHA

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fortunatetragedy · 7 days

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(credits: "the woman with the candle (detail)" by cornelius visscher ii / frigoris "... in stille" album art / safia elhillo, from spring / battle of fort donelson, lithograph by kurz & allison / "unidentified soldier in union corporal's uniform [...]" from "the last full measure" exhibit @ library of congress / soldiers on the canadian river [...] from oklahoma historical society / bilal al-shams, "sacrifice" / random pin / "flowers in my lungs" by amanda cowan / [needs title] by muhamed elkotby)

who is this son of a bitch

name: first sergeant cole sullivan, u.s. army cavalry 10th regiment (he will say the entire thing every time he introduces himself)

what is he in: #doom metal love story! he's our protagonist.

alias/nicknames: best friend calls him "kentucky"; lover has a whole bunch of nicknames for him

d.o.b.: july 31, 1835 (37 in 1872, 38 when he dies in 1874)

from: an irish catholic immigrant family in lexington, kentucky

personality: sincere, rigid, optimistic, courageous, blunt, patient, funny

physical appearance:

not unlike this mf:

19th-century tall

graying brown hair, graying red beard

battle scars

got-pushed-off-a-train scars

kinda cute

looks like he's never smiled a day in his life

looks hella uncomfortable w/o all his weapons & ish on

song:

so what's his situation:

brought up in irish catholic immigrant family

only child

father found out he was homosexual

tl;dr sullivan ran away from home & joined the army @ 15-16

v committed to his job, to treating horses with respect, and to remaining on the mortal coil

known his best friend (surgeon-major erik hofer) since 1861

met his lover (arthur royston) in 1872 when royston got himself poisoned before a saloon shoot-out (see september 1872)

caught in a time loop because he is technically an npc in another character's story

i can explain:

the first draft of the novel was 1/3 as long and it SUCKED

he wanted the chance to make things better with his stupid boyfriend + bring folks to justice who deserved to be brought to justice + stop the end of the world without having to sacrifice anybody

i was like "sorry buddy you're a literary device i can't do that i already wrote 'the end'"

and he wouldn't stop bothering me about it

so i was like "ugh fine you can change the whole fucking narrative sullivan you're the main character in my heart"

now here we are with a 600-page novel and i have to write two more bc he's a stubborn mf who's willing to [spoilers] in furtherance of bullet point #2

that's him that's my protagonist bye <3

#writeblr #am screwing around #disabled characters #queer characters #historical characters

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breakerwhiskey · 9 months

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005 - FIVE

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut.

[click]

(tipsy the whole time)

Breaker, breaker, this is WAR1974. Same frequency as yesterday, but not on the road for once. I found a little house just off the main road that looked abandoned but didn’t have any broken windows so I figured…

[click, static]I haven’t broken in. Just to be clear. The door was unlocked and I…

[click, static]

Well, come on, no one’s really gonna hold me responsible for seeking shelter when there’s no one else around, right? I swear, if the owners show up, I’ll clear right out.

But it’s nice. You know? Being in someone else’s home. Looking at the books they have, their clothes, their records. You can get to know someone through the things they own. Through what they give prominence to in their living space.

Based on this living space, I’d guess…older couple? Been married…oh, I don’t know, thirty, forty years. But this isn’t the house they lived most of their life in. The furniture hasn’t worn patterns into the floor, the sun hasn’t bleached particular bits. There’s no photos.

[click, static]

But there’s a record player and they’ve got all the greats–Johnny Cash, Hank Williams, Patsy Cline…god, I wish they had power, I’d kill to hear any of those folks. We mostly had classical records, a couple of big bands that almost made me think of my parents…one Beach Boys record. I know every word to every song on that one, it was the newest thing we had. It was barely two years old when the whole thing started but now it feels like a record I’ve been listening to my whole life, I’ve heard it so many times.

[click, static]

Don’t tell anyone, but I think I’m gonna sneak the Hank Williams record away. Just in case I come across a working player. I’ve been trying the radio in the car every single day, and it’s pretty much all static. Every now and then I feel like I hear a little bit of music, but it’s never clear enough to tell.

They won’t miss it. The record. I don’t think they’ll miss the bourbon I’ve dug into either. I hope not, anyway.

[click, static]

(sip) That’s right. Bourbon. I found honest to god bourbon. I haven’t had a real drink in…god. Who knows. We had a little at the beginning and we…sort of? Figured out how to make our cider? I would’ve preferred beer, but apples are one thing, where the hell would we have gotten hops. And it’s not like I was ever allowed to go anywhere to find something that wasn’t absolutely vital for survival. I wanted to try my hand at making bathtub gin, but Harry thought I’d blow the whole place up. And you know, she’s just got a real big—

[click, static]

I think I will be taking my little alcoholic Kentucky friend here with me on my journey. Bring it back to the homeland.

I hope wherever they are, the couple that lived here is happy and safe. They seem nice. Based on their music and the fact that they’ve got a bunch of dish towels with cartoon puppies and kittens on ‘em. No art on the walls. A couple of fish, a stag head. Which is art of a kind. But no paintings.

Which is fine by me. If I never see another painting in my goddamn life, I’ll be happy.

[click, static]

Anyway…I’m just about falling asleep where I sit. My body’s not used to hard liquor anymore, I guess. So, I’m just gonna…

[click, static]

[beeps]

[clicks off]

#breaker whiskey #audio drama #episode #transcript #Spotify

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