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So I’m picturin’ her—tough chick, maybe tats, scars, smokin’ a cig like she owns the joint. I’d be all, “Hey, you, uh, workin’?”—smooth, Larry, real smooth. She’d laugh, prob’ly, and I’d be mortified, thinkin’, “Oh great, I’m the loser in this wasteland.” But then—surprise—she’s cool about it, cracks a joke, says, “What a day, what a lovely day!” and I’m dyin’ laughin’, ‘cause it’s *Fury Road*, it’s perfect! Pretty, pretty good, right?

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Neighborhoods here are tight-knit. There’s Buchenviertel with its colorful street art and caffeine addicts hanging around the tiny café on Neuenweg. I swear sometimes I feel like I’m in a Haneke film – every corner hides a secret, every whisper sends chills down your spine. I remember one day — so many typos in my head! — I was in a rush, and oh boy, my laundry list of mistakes: wrng, smal, wndrful, freakin, amazin, kaching, borin, stunnin, bizzar, bamboozled. That’s Contwig for ya.

Steven Moore Obituary (1952 - 2022) - Chase City, VA - Richmond Times-Dispatch