Mathis TX sex dating in Bergen
Local girl searching chat singles 24 looking for younger or older NSA.
.jpeg)
.jpg)
.jpeg)
.jpg)
.jpeg)
.jpeg)
.jpeg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpeg)
.jpg)
.jpeg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpeg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpeg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
See other girls from Norway: Dating sluts blacks sat after noon in Bergen, Free phone sex cam in Stavanger, Meet for sex in Ford
Who Killed the Fudge King? Tom Donaghy writes for theater, television, and film. During summer vacations to the Jersey Shore in the s, my father would take my brother and me as a treat, when we behaved. A pretty girl in a pinafore would greet us outside with a tray of free shavings. Once we popped actual cubes of the magic stuff into our tiny mouths, we were as high as kids are allowed to be.
For decades, Copper Kettle lived in my head as a kind of childhood memory-scape: the salt air coming off the ocean, the shiny vats of molten fudge, the too much sugar all at once. I told my brother we should make our way back to Copper Kettle, and he informed me that it had long since gone out of business. He had some more information too: about what had become of Harry Anglemyer, the man behind the fudge. So revered were his stores that Harry was known far and wide as the Fudge King.
His body was stuffed under the dashboard of his Lincoln Continental, parked at an after-hours nightclub called the Dunes. The case was never solved. I spent the next two years sorting through a trove of whispers and accusations around the murder.
At first I was just curious, but the more I learned about Harry—a figure beloved by friends and strangers alike—the more intent I was to identify his killer. I scoured blogs, Facebook groups, newspaper archives, and thinly veiled fictional accounts of the crime. I discovered a plausible myth, a trove of red herrings, and, finally, what appeared to be the truth.
