Cherokee Dr: Ass

One night, a man in a black sedan pulled up. No license plate. He wore a suit that cost more than Dr. Ass’s trailer. He said his name was Mr. Cross, and he had a problem no hospital could touch.

Mr. Cross paid his forty dollars. Then he wrote a check for the Mulberry Creek volunteer fire department. The trailer’s sign got a new line: Epilogue cherokee dr ass

So he came home to Mulberry Creek, set up a trailer behind the Cherokee Stop-N-Go, and hung a hand-painted sign: The first patient was old Man Crutcher, who’d been complaining of a "funny taste in his mouth" for three years. Three different clinics had given him antacids. One night, a man in a black sedan pulled up

And for God’s sake, turn around before you hear him say: Ass’s trailer

Dr. Ass looked at the man’s immaculate cufflinks. His too-still posture. The faint smell of woodsmoke and old regrets.