
Damn Weed
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Narrado por:
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Virtual Voice
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De:
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Steve Potter

Este título utiliza narración de voz virtual
The summer I graduated from high school, my grandpa busted me smoking pot behind his garage. I was just hanging around, looking forward to getting the hell out of my hometown and starting college. I’d stop by Grams and Gramps place about once a week to check in on them and help with the chores.
When I first got to his place that afternoon and started mowing the lawn, Gramps came striding out the backdoor and across the grass pretending to be mad at me. He was a square-jawed, square-shouldered old guy who walked like Gary Cooper on the way to a gunfight, but his scowl was pure Clint Eastwood. His shirt was loose, his pants baggy, due to the muscular atrophy of age. He never bought new clothes.
“Where the heck am I going that I gotta look snazzy,” was his usual reply whenever my Mom suggested he go buy himself some new duds.
“Dang it, I got nothing to do all day but mow the damn lawn Roger,” he said as if appalled at my lack of consideration for coming over and doing some of his work for him. He smiled and clapped my shoulder. “Good to see you, boy. Well, all righty. Go ahead and help if you’re set on it, but save me some.”