A stop at the wrong house
It is a story from decades ago that I’ve retold countless times. Its punchline--wadded up into a few words--sums up the conundrums that hit us daily with tornadic force.
Allow me, please, to set it up: At a country shack--one that could easily be a “poster house” for poverty--a government guy knocks on the door.
A “mountain man” (or woman) responds with a curt, “Whadda ya want?” greeting. (After all, the ramshackle residence far out in the woods is not easily accessed. No one passes it on the way to town.)…
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