All Mercer county resisted me while I walked. In my wake coal-towns I suppose would lapse back to their habitual owner-choked dullness but while I was raising the dust off their main streets it was like Yojimbo, suspicion animated the doors & porch-boards and ocularized the windows till before long I'd always be approached and harassed in turn by a coal-company thug-band, a coal-company sheriff & deputy, a general knot of folk, and some evangelical fools. Everyone wanted me on their side, or out of town, or in their depressing little jail or deal-wood church. One time I did accept a meal & some monies to stay a day and fix a busted Estey reed-organ for a couple of bible-jerks but usually I took care to get through as quick as I could. I was headed to Bramwell. All these hills' messy eructations of raw carbon were turning to diamonds faster than God or time could ever figure out how to make them do and that silly Gilded Age saw little Bramwell enjoying the residency of more millionaires per capita than any other place in the U.S.A. The Bluestone ran red from the earth-disturbances upstream but cradled the town in an elegant kink like how the Tennessee does the golf course opposing Blue Goose Hollow and the other old rail slums of Chattanooga which are all gone now, gone, gone, for highways! My blood ran kinky too, a certain instability to the electric charge of my heart-muscle. I felt it falter, times, my heart, thought little of it; but since have come to understand what a damned complicated mystery God worked in building me. Love can be any of so many things, any tiny thing, a little animate quiver of Potassium ions!