Elmer Season!

There are men in the hills here, men with guns. Along the highways, pickup trucks bedecked with yellow-ribbon magnets have been left like rusty snake-skins as their owners prowl the snowy forests for the unlucky bucks who will secure their places at the Men’s Table at all social events until next year. I’m hoping the dim, orange light of a cigarette in no way resembles moonlight in a deer’s eye.

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