Mr. Write's Page

Before I retired and moved to Jefferson, I lived in the little town of Between, Georgia — so named because it is between two larger towns.

One balmy evening, I was sitting on my back patio, watching the moon come up, when my next-door neighbor Paul stopped by. He said a cheery hello and presented me with a bottle of raspberry wine.

In actuality, the bottle contained only about three fingers of wine. The rest of it was in Paul’s Styrofoam Chic-Fil-A cup.

There’s something very “Captain Morgan” about a man who drinks raspberry wine from a Styrofoam Chic-Fil-A cup.

I love the South.