Family Photo: One Of My Badass Daughters

I generally try to keep a fence between Junk Chuck and Real Chuck, you know, to keep out the riff-raff–but every once in a while an opportunity arises, like with this photo I nabbed from the local paper, which is just splashy and gritty-faced enough that you wouldn’t be able to recognize the junior Junk if you didn’t already know her.

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About JunkChuck

Native, Militant Westsylvanian (the first last best place), laborer, gardener, and literary hobbyist (if by literary you mean "hack"). I've had a bunch of different blogs, probably four, due to a recurring compulsion to start over. This incarnation owes to a desire to dredge up the best entries of the worst little book of hand-scrawled poems I could ever dream of writing, salvageable excerpts from fiction both in progress and long-abandoned. and a smattering of whatever the hell seems to fit at any particular moment. At first blush, I was here just to focus on old, terrible verse, but I reserve the right to include...anything. Maybe everything, certainly my love of pulp novels growing garlic, the Pittsburgh Steelers and howling at the moon--both figuratively and, on rare occasions, literally.
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