Go on, give it a shot. It won't do any harm." That is likely everything Smokey would agree to you.
It is 1977 and you are in your twenties once more. You owe nobody and nobody owes you. You're only searching for a check and a spot to be.
You're going on that sloppy, pot-holey, raggedy ass, piece of street we used to call the North Fork Roadway in a battered old car with uncovered tires with seven bucks and 27 pennies in your pocket.
Seeing's left of that town; a town extra from lifetimes past; a tumbling downtown at the top of an emerald green knoll being covered with the first of another colder time of year's new snow.
This is a story about that town..
This is likewise a story about any of us that populated that town during the late nineteen seventies and mid eighties.
This is a story about Katy Gunn, Timothy O'Leary, Jim, Alice, and Cecil. Youngsters brought into the world of the late nineteen forties and mid fifties. A piece of what was inexactly alluded to as the "Common laborers"