By Charlie Melton
I went to meet up with my friend Jerry. He was in the Centerville area doing a job, and I offered to go stand in his way and slow progress to a crawl. I couldn’t remember the exact directions, so I drove around the general area looking for him and reminiscing about my teen years. I remembered the old Trammel place, but it was unrecognizable because I’ve outlived the well-built house. It was like one of those little kid’s puzzles where you hold up the geometric shaped block and try to match it to the corresponding hole in the board. I held my mental image of the house at arm’s length, but the landscape didn’t match. I even remember the dog that would turn in a circle before he chased your car, but nothing matched that memory.
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