| In the sweet, nostalgic memories of everyone who pines for the bygone days of small-town America, there is always a General Store. An old-fashioned place that doesn't necessarily have what folks need, but it does have what they want-someone who remembers their brand of tobacco, the kind of motor oil they bought last time, and asks to see pictures of the new baby or the wedding without being prompted. . . . I parked outside the white clapboard building with its hipped tin roof and large picture window with the neon "Open" sign that now read "Ope." |
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