I think of Frank in his junkyard paradise.
Another fine tale! That dude reminds me of the King of Alabama. Except the King was extremely dangerous when he wasn't laughing, and drank muscadine wine.
What a great story. I loved the metaphor about his words were slow trains coming into his mouth and "fucking" was the platform. You didn't say anything about him dying, so I imagine you still maybe ... just maybe ... keep in touch this him. Not too many of his kind around these days ... if ever.
This is beautifully written, sparkling with details and dialogue that paint a vivid portrait of Frank. I feel I'd know him now if I saw him! and I'd count myself lucky to meet him and get a taste of his f-ing blackberry jam.
everyone needs a Frank in their lives. what a lovely story about a lovely man
To paraphrase "Smoking Frank" totally out of context...this is SO fuckin' good. What a delight this man is ~ earthy, kind, self-sufficient. Your words shapeshift into a world of gritty beauty that I would love to inhabit for awhile. Bravissima!
Amazing piece. I want to see more profiles, including Californians...
Best thing of yours I've read, Tonya.