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“We thought we were being so sneaky, but not because we were ashamed of the other. Or maybe I was, a little, because you wore John Deere mesh-back trucker caps un-ironically and didn’t own any brand name clothing that wasn’t Carhartt, Red Wing or Polaris (or was it Arctic Cat? I would hate to forget the great Canadian allegiances, that’s like asking a Habs fan if they like the Leafs.)

You would’ve been described by my more judgmental city friends as “a dirt” or “a dirtbag” with your chainsaw-resistant pants (a real thing, Google it), t-shirts advertising a spark plug manufacturer, work boots and filthy ball cap. The local accent could make the most educated person sound butt-ass-stupid and your aging, rusting out domestic pickup completed the “Hick” starter kit you had going on.”

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