Curtis don't want a hug

Georgia glass

 

But I was going to get that hug and another hug and another and another. It was fine that Curtis didn't need a hug though I'm sure I would've given him one if he'd asked.

"Curtis," I addressed him by the name on his very nice shirt. "Let's just say it was your mama that needed a tire. Where would you tell her to go?"

"Two things," Curtis replied. "First, my mama is dead."

"Aw man, I'm sorry."      Yeah.

"Second. If she was alive, I'd tell her to go to hell."

"Aw hell, Curtis. Maybe a girlfriend, a wife?"       Back up. Back up. Back up.

"All of 'em, but let me go check something."

Today I am grateful for Curtis and the opportunity for the hugs his tire gave me. I am grateful for the kind people in Springville, AL, the police in Ballpark, GA, that lady playing the lottery who so kindly explained with distance and him and her and her and him. The breakfast, the dinner, the mountains, the front porch swing and the hugs. Georgia hugs are the best.