by Freida Marie Crump
Greetin’s from the Ridge.
I have always considered my banker to be my friend…until now. Far as I’m concerned he’s the worst skin-flint walkin’ and I don’t care if I ever talk with the man again. It was such a simple request.
"I want to be a Republican."
"You..uh…Mrs. Crump, I don’t believe I heard you right." "I want to be a Republican. I need $6,000.