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Hoyt And Ida May Across The Pond
“Where’s everbody?” asked Ida May. “You promised me a show.”
Hoyt hooked a thumb under the galus of his overalls, shrugged and stared up at the Roman amphitheater
“Makes no sense. A big ass playhouse and no pickers.”
“Things is so confounded over here. I miss my good old country music,” Ida whined, tossing her bubble hairdo.
“I could ask that one over there when the show starts.”
“Won’t do no good. She probably don’t even speak no American.”
“Let’s just go back into town and see if they’s any hamburger joints.”
“I told you we shoulda gone to Branson.”