（ how do you describe what a place is like to someone that's never been there? ain't got the first clue of what it may look like, how it may be? he ain't sure. normally, he'd talk about the rolling hills, the woods, the folks that live there. the bloody an' sordid history of the place, for the bloom ain't never been on the rose for someone who can speak with lives lost ages past. he could talk about sunsets an' magnolias an' peaches an' fireflies an' all the rest, an' that grapico tastes just right ice cold in the hot afternoons. but all of that takes context. what if she ain't got the first idea what a peach is, or a firefly? he's silent a long moment — not awkwardly so, just thinkin', an' then: ）

Small towns, mostly. Folks ain't really good or bad, they're just people tryin' to live their lives. Lotta love. Lotta hatred, too, an' it's a cruel place if'n you ain't right the way folks want you to be right.

（ there's love in the way he speaks on it, but sorrow just the same. the civil war ain't all that far outta human memory, an' knowin' that he never could'a brought reggie to visit agathine even if he'd lived through the damn war will always wear on him. one side of his mouth tugs down, an' he carries on: ）

I guess — folks call it the land of opportunity, America. It ain't perfect, but it's better than a lotta other places.