I didn’t realize growing up that every town didn’t have a “Freddy.” He is the grand marshal of our parades, the staunchest supporter at all Clinton Dragons ball games, and a fixture at the best restaurants in town. He shuffles and swears and smiles through many a pleasant adolescent memory.
Thankfully, he’s still there when I go home, and now one of the local authors has written a collection of stories about him. It might not mean much to anyone who didn’t grow up there, but I can’t tell. I’m totally biased. Go read the sample on kindle here and if you like it, splurge on the $3.03 kindle copy.