Granite Stories

<p><em>Go ahead try it on for size. It won't hurt. That's probably what Smokey would tell you.</em></p><p> </p><p>The year is 1977 and you are in your twenties again. You owe no one and no one owes you. You're just looking for a paycheck and a place to be.</p><p>You're traveling on that muddy pot-holey raggedy ass piece of road we used to call the North Fork Highway in a battered old sedan with bald tires and seven dollars and twenty-seven cents in your pocket.</p><p>You're looking at what's left of that town; a town leftover from lifetimes past; a falling down town at the head of an emerald green meadow being covered with the first of a new winter's fresh snow.</p><p>This is a tale about that town.</p><p>This is also a tale about those of us that populated that town during the late nineteen seventies and early eighties.</p><p><em>T</em>his is a tale about Katy Gunn Timothy O'Leary Jim Alice and Cecil. Children born of the late nineteen forties and early fifties. A piece of what was loosely referred to as the Working Class back in those days. A piece of what was known by the demographic parceling of a generation called Baby Boomers.</p>