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ELEGANZA

MACOMB, IL—The Twentieth Century ground to a thoroughly embarrassed halt as I entered the home of my neighborhood hepsters, Hoot and Annie. They reside in a déshabillé hovel furnished in a hit and miss style that decorators sometimes refer to as “of uncertain parentage.”

February 1, 1981
Rick Johnson

I Call On Hoot 'n’ Annie

Rick Johnson

MACOMB, IL—The Twentieth Century ground to a thoroughly embarrassed halt as I entered the home of my neighborhood hepsters, Hoot and Annie. They reside in a déshabillé hovel furnished in a hit and miss style that decorators sometimes refer to as “of uncertain parentage.” Loom debris battled warped dulcimers for wall space, while child goners with names that sound like different brands of cough syrup were scattered across the floor, observing rug wildlife.

Hoot wears a cowturd hat as is the nature of all Hoots. He means well, but so did Jerry Lewis. Aye, he doth hoot, but he knoweth not whereof he hooteth.

Annie likes to throw on three or four long dresses and picture herself the Stevie Nicks type. Either that, or a tent city in a typhoon.

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