I was sittin on the Ground Zero porch in Clarksdale the other day, on that sofa with all the stuffing squeezing out of the torn Naugahide cover, when the old purple Ground Zero caddy crawled by real slow. It was dusk, and dusty and hard to see real clear; the back window was partially down; a waft of smoke curled out, but i could swear I saw Willie in the back seat, leaning forward with a bottle pressed to his lips.
- Submitted by Spud Turner, Clarksdale, Mississippi