This story, also based on a song of mine, is very short. Harvey Phelan was stranded magnificently, holed up in the last place he’d expect to be on Thanksgiving. As best he could tell, the body of water outside the window was called Alton Bay. The little village about a half mile away was either …
Nightrider's Lament
"Why do they [write] for their money? Why do they [work] for short pay? They ain't getting nowhere and they're losing their share. They must have gone crazy back there." — Michael Burton (paraphrased)
Nightrider's Lament 