“You know, you can’t get there from here.” Sadie Blankenship was giving me advice.
“It’s worth a try.”
“Not if you just end up spinning your wheels in the mud. Folks might have better things to do.”
“It was an invitation.”
“Anybody drop by, kick the tires, scratch at the paint, look inside the horse’s mouth?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Then it’s a bust. Total waste of time. Like most things in life.”
“Can’t blame me for trying.”
“Just blaming you for wasting your time. It’s like a dead man. Once dead, folks stay dead. No bringing them back to life. Bury the body. Plant a stone.”
Sadie Blankenship should know. She’s been dead going on two years. I miss her.