Rick Allen, I said.
In between songs he’d talk to me, the only one in the bar. I told him how much I appreciated his unusually diverse skills. For some strange reason, he invited me to sit next to him on the piano bench.
No Paychecks . . . No Prospects . . . Always How one writer struggles to elevate from the hammock, overcome his God-given laziness and earn a living in a cruel world that insists he work. (The title of this blog is in no way aspirational or should be considered an endorsement of the Amish lifestyle)
(811 words) I remain charmed by the many crayon keepsakes friends and readers have bestowed on me over the past three years. Each wa...