When I was a teenager I tried to be a “far out groovy cat.” My ‘55 Chevy was “cherry,” my school was “cool,” and my friends were “outta sight.” When I agreed with them, I would say, “right on, man.” ...
Black widows and brown recluses are often the talk of South Carolina residents, with parents scouting for eight legged foes in dark corners of basements and yards before letting the kids out to play.