by Freida Marie Crump
Greetings from the Ridge.
So I sit the little boy down on my knee. He’s bright, he’s curious, and he has questions. He looks up at me through eyes of innocence and asks me, “Who’s Scooter Libby and why does he have such a funny name?”
I gulp. I’m no Scooter booster but how do I explain the fate of this slippery Texan without completely destroying