RURAL WRITES

| RURAL WRITES | G.A. SCHEINOHA CONTRIBUTOR On an afternoon when it’s hotter than a $2 pistol, 96-degrees, you almost hear concrete scream. Imagine asphalt’s agony. Okay, just a poetic personification. Small wonder street surfaces erupt like volcanos, pothole size or frequently larger cauldrons. Even corn draws hydration from sheer mugginess. Leastwise, tasseled stalks dry in a hurry