First girl I ever kissed was a Southern lass name of Misti Pearson. Her Pa was a U.S. Postal Delivery man in our hometown. Anyway, I did my homework in preparation for the moment: I watched a kiss scene from the film Fright Night over and over on a VHS tape I rented from Prime Time Video. Also, I drew upon a scene from Do The Right Thing (when Mookie lays the Mack vibe down on "Tina," played by Rosie Perez). In case you ever wondered what might happen when an AfAm indy film darling informs a wormy Cracker from the Deep South, just look to me. I am your specimen...well, but, yas, yas, of course The Kiss was an epic failure (and by that I mean that it was clunky, toothy, and that Misti initiated closure before me) - but at least I got it over with. Why am I telling you this? Because recently I bought some Proustian "GEORGIA PEACHES" at the Hy*Vee and looked & seen that they was growed at a farm name of Pearson Farms, which is about 50 miles from my hometown. Small wee li'l global corporate-industrial world, this one.
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