GEORGIA POSSESES WHAT OUTSIDERS CONSIDER A PECULIAR quality. She suffers from bouts of dementia, which suspiciously result in her “wandering” onto her front porch, climbing like a rooster atop the most prominent point, flapping her arms, and melodiously throating the most scandalous neighborhood gossip - in full voice.
Her Baptism-white bungalow rises at the corner of Holy Street & 6th, the intersection of two of the most foot-traveled avenues of Piney Grove, our cozy enclave just beyond the shadow of Downtown. Which means, her house is en route to everywhere. Which means our community’s sundry citizens are perfunctorily polarized into two types: The Innocent, who stroll by casually, even pausing to admire Georgia’s demure violets and yellow zinnias; and The Guilty, who scurry by under ruse and wig, for fear of having some vicious personal secret — perhaps so deep and dark that they don’t even know yet themselves — exposed.
I considered myself as part of the halo-sporting class. Which was my mistake.
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Zoe and I had been seeing...
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