Hugh Fardid stood in the doorway of his formative ‘Graceland’, his wife Mildred beside him. They had spent the rest of the morning surveying their recently created mud pit, and were getting ready to go back inside and invent a new plan to coax some of this great nation’s vagabonds to an improved version of their sideshow.
     “First time since last Thanksgiving we ain’t had no people out here,” Hugh said for the third time.
     “Sure wish these things hadn’t gotten outta hand this morning…”
     “Well…it could be worse, you know. Still have Igmo for company, if need be.”
     “Mildew…we just need to start figurin’ what it’s gonna take to make up another show for the restless travelers out there. Somethin’ kinda special to make us filthy rich!”
     “Give it a rest, Hughie,” she insisted, “we still got a gas station up at Rooterton and one near Spankville, plus the re’mote one to attend to.”
     “Those are puny potatoes…but, it puts food in the back pasture.”
     “Speakin’ of food…how ‘bout some lunch, then?”
     “I could make you a nice turkey sandwich. Would you like that?”
     “Ummmm-hmmmmm, turkey sandwiches sounds like a winner!”
     “You want some ketchup? We got lots of ketchup!”
     “Honey,” he said as he patted her rubbery behind when they completely entered their mobile home, “I’d love some.”
     “Don’t have no honey, or mayonnaise for that matter. Just ketchup.”
     “Never mind, Mildew…turkey and ketchup on toast sounds just fine!”
     They walked through the living room and into the kitchen. Mildred went to the refrigerator and was about to open the door when she noticed that somebody had rearranged her rudimentary magnet collection. One of her favorites, a hand-painted Belted Galloway bovine with the caption: “HOLY COW! EATING, AGAIN?” had been moved. It was now about waist level, and there was a note under it.
     “Hugh,” she said as she removed the note and put the magnet back in its proper place, “I think you ought’ta come and see this.”
     Hugh walked over and looked at the beautiful handwritten meat-packing paper note, which read:
Dear Fardids,
I’m off to look up an old friend in Las Vegas.
Then, I need to find my hat.
It’s kind of special.
Don’t spaz on getting around this...I’m sure you’ll have a new idea soon.
Happy trails,
P.S. – Thanks for the corn.
End: Chap. 14