Chapter 13

“Is that right?”

“The hair,” he said. “Dead giveaway. Long hair on a man is so unattractive. It tells me you don’t much care what society thinks.”

“I don’t,” I said.

“That’s what you say. But down inside, I think the long hair is a way to get attention. To stick out. To be a sore thumb. Sore thumbs always get attention, of course, and that’s the point. You want attention. You liberals always do.”

I looked from Mr. Ledbetter to his wife and then to Jackson. I felt like I was on the set of a bad Woody Allen movie—not that there were any other kind, but still.

“I feel like I’ve just woke up in some sort of parallel universe,” I offered.

“So do I,” Mrs. Ledbetter said, chuckling. “Except you live here and I’m only visiting—and thank God for that. But we’ll try to make the best of it. So, William, tell me: What’s it like to live in the poorest, fattest, and dumbest state in the Union?”

“My name is not William!”