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So now I am jist as sorry as I kin be fer all the folks that strayed off up north an got got by the devil and air now livin raspectable, unbelievin lives. They ain't a havin no fun, neither. Not the way ye do when ye kin see and hyear things proper . But not me. Not no more. An jist t'other day, I was a watchin fer the mail, on account of I was sposed to git a check, an I needed hit awful bad, but hit never come. An jist about the time I ordinary would of been wringin my hands and a sayin' "Lord, ha mercy. Christ, ha mercy ..." an gittin nowhur but all nervous an worrit, a ghost stepped up to me an said, "Read that letter that ye did git an stop ye frettin." And I done her. And hit was from a feller down in Virginye that might have a job a writin fer me to do. And this is the nice thing about ghosts. Onct you git so ye kin hyear em good, they won't let you down nowhur along the line. Not them good ghosts, they won't. Fer then I took to hyearin a song a singin, about good things a goin to happen. An I says, "Well, they's a biscuit er two around the house, yit. I reckon I kin hold out a whal." An you know what that song was? It was "Build ye hopes on things eternal . . . " An me a fussin around the mail box. They ain't nothin eternal about a ol fool mail box. An I never will do hit agin. ARE YE UP THERE, BADJACK? Are ye up there, Bad Jack? Did He take you, Bad Jack Means? Baptised though you were In your sinking days, aged eighty, Your path greased to heaven? They say your sins Killed every fish in the river— Every sunfish, crappy and stone-toter Between McRoberts and Hazard. In your time, Bad Jack, You rammicked, you knifed, you shot; When you stirred life was barely tolerable. You slew six, you slew hope, You slew scores of tomorrows. Are ye up There, Bad Jack? If you are, if He took you in, I think I'll choose the Other Place. —James Still 58 ...

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