So far vacation has been a great time, but I sometimes get the impression that there might be a few impostors here at the International Murray Festival. This guy has been following me around everywhere, but I can never get a good look at him. I think he might be a Murphy; we’ve been rivals for years.
Well, I finally arrived at my motel. Seems deserted except for some kid playing banjo on the porch. And what is that smell?
