The Devil’s Cut

Calloway Hicks was not a decent man. A decent man would have gone down into Walhalla. A decent man would have joined on with the cotton mill, would have carded or spun, or even worked on the old looms that constantly break down. A decent man would have found a way, even if that way was one he hated. A decent man gives himself up for the needs of others, eats misery and serves happiness with the same hand. Calloway Hicks was not a decent man.

Some say Calloway was born with a pair of brown overalls on, as his omnipresent garment was either the product of an infinite supply of clones, or a single pair, perfectly washed and pressed…usually starched. He went to church, often only to gain more customers, men who would sometimes leave the sermon halfway through to go outside and take a shot at his wares. Calloway was unabashed, as one had to be amidst the rolling hills and hollers that drew into them the sins of men who threw themselves upon its breast, and hid their secrets well inside its loving folds. Calloway Hicks was not a decent man. Calloway Hicks was a moonshiner.

You come from rough and you become rough, rarely a chance to break the mold. You see hate and you imitate it, it is all you know. Dark Corner is dark enough, and he was the prince. Any man that’s a good man, is a man you do not know.