Mr. Jones and me, stumbling through the barrio

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She turns to lift her robe, and lays it across her as though she were revealing her shame, as though she were naked.

If the newspapers and broadcasts are blaring “Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, Zip-a-dee-a/My, oh my, what a wonderful day” over and over, there’s a tendency to go down the road humming that tune, too, because you can’t get it out of your head. Are business conditions good? Zip-a-dee-doo-dah!