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Rosstrum Publishing

Rosstrum Publishing is a division of The Border Company, LLC

 

8 Strawberry Bank Rd.

Suite 20

Nashua, New Hampshire

   

 

       George pushed the coffee aside since he preferred water or tonic – his term for soda pop, which did not escape significant razzing. The more experienced coffee drinkers knew that particular brew could be dangerous and they limited their consumption.
     “So where ya from?” one of George’s tablemates asked.
     “Connecticut.”
     “Coe-NEC-tee-cut,” a cowboy said from across the table. “Ain’t that that puny State somewheres in the north-east?”
     “You’re thinking of Rhode Island. Connecticut is right next door.”
     “Hell, there ain’t no place back east big enough worth callin’ a State.”
     “What do ya say ya tell us what it is we’re goin’ after up on the mountain?” another diner asked.
     George answered, “We’re going up to study a cloud that’s decided to park itself up there.”
     “Why do ya wanna do that?”
     “I’m a meteorologist.”
     “What’s so special about this cloud?”
     “It seems to go anywhere it wants to.”
     “Hell, all clouds do that!” the cowboy added. “Send over some of them spuds,” he asked another.
     “That’s true, but this one doesn’t follow all the rules.”
     A bearded man chewing on a gravy-soaked biscuit entered the conversation for the first time. “How d’ ya mean?”
     “It doesn’t move along with any weather system. You can predict where most storms will go, but not this one. It’ll move along in a predictable pattern and then turn suddenly for no reason at all.
     “A cloud this big should be dropping all kinds of snow or rain but the only thing it’s dropped so far is a mercenary named Jack LaRoche and his horse.” George noticed several heads rise, including that of Stan Maszewski, who had not been participating in the conversation. “Did you know Jack LaRoche, Stan?”
     “A little. He was a pretty nasty fellow. Mark’s been after him for a long time.” Stan quickly ended his participation by stuffing some food into his mouth.
     George continued addressing the others. “LaRoche was found half-buried in a Tennessee swamp by a farmer who said he saw him fall from the sky.”

 

 

 

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