“As the South Turn… Turns… Episode 17”

“Once upon a time, beneath the luminous summer sun of Slitherville Tennessee, the annual Horse Show was in full swing, pulling gamblers, equestrian enthusiasts, and curious townsfolk together from all corners of the state. This year’s atmosphere bubbled with chatter and laughter, but amid the joyous equine festivities lurked a scandal in the making.

Howard Anderton, the notorious publisher of the Tennessee Walking Horse Journal, staggered through the crowd, the light from the gold-tinted tents hazy and blurred. He held a plastic cup filled to the brim with cheap whiskey, gracefully slurring through the clamor. Howard had never been well-loved; his relentless scrutiny of competitors and biting commentary on horse shows seemed to make enemies faster than he could make friends. Yet, here he was with a ragtag group of friends trying to forget their sorrows in the glory of hooves and cheers.

At his side was Thelma London, a vivacious girl with roots in Kentucky that reached as deep as the bluegrass itself. With her striking auburn hair and a laugh that echoed louder than the announcer’s voice, Thelma demanded attention, whether she sought it or not. On this day, she was Howard’s happy distraction from the ambivalence of his career and a delightful spectacle for the onlookers.

Riddled with brilliance and great cologne was handsome Grady Biggers, Howard’s stiff-stanced competitor from Burnt Groceries, Alabama. It was Grady who had tossed that dreadful label upon Thelma, calling her a whore in front of a gathering crowd while boasting of his popular web publishing site, way more popular than the pitaful Journal. Howard, fueled partially by betrayal and whiskey, couldn’t let it go. His mind churned, a wave of smoke fanning his fiery indignation.

“Why don’t you sue the bastard?” he suggested lazily, a hint of mischief dancing behind his bleary eyes as he leaned toward Thelma, nudging her with his elbow.

That single joke spiraled into a whirlwind of chaotic decisions. With Howard buzzing around Thelma like a relentless fly, egging her on as if it were a competition to get back at Grady, she set off to consult with the town’s most flamboyant attorney, Jimmy Snorton.

Jimmy was an eccentric figure; with his flamboyant suits and an even more flamboyant attitude, he carried the courtroom like a stage for his one-man show. However, unbeknownst to them all, he had his own skeletons lurking in the musty corners of the court—and on the infamous whore hopper list, no less.

With grand ambitions and a rare opportunity to spit fire at Grady, Thelma engaged Jimmy to pursue a lawsuit for two million dollars. It was a glorious idea, a spectacle that must’ve been painted by a surrealist artist in a fever dream. Whispers began to swirl through the grassy knolls of River Bend as the news spread like wildfire—the spunky Thelma was fighting back.

But the plot thickened. Amid the preparation for the legal showdown, Snorton received a summons himself. The rumor mill churned, revealing his own name on the very list they were all betting against, casting a long shadow over their pretentious crusade. With bated breath and red cheeks blossoming like summer roses, he had to appear in court—and suddenly, the suit began to resemble that of a circus act gone horribly awry.

At their first court appearance, the air was thick with anticipation. Shimmering lights of cameras and murmurs of the chatter filled the air as they gathered. But just as Thelma stood confidently, daggers in her eyes directed at Grady, Snorton’s face turned as pale as a ghost. When he took the stand and as the judge called for order, it became evident that the case wasn’t as finely woven as they had imagined.

With a dismissive wave, the judge proclaimed the suit dismissed amidst chuckles and snickers that ricocheted off the stained wooden walls of the small-town courthouse. Thelma’s head twisted quickly toward Howard, who was now an ashen shade of embarrassment. Grady simply smiled, scoffing at the disproved accusation as he savored the taste of victory.

The spectacle did one thing: It washed away any inkling of credence for Howard’s publication. The six-foot-tall publisher cursed under his breath, battling the demons of his own making. All these years, he had been a solitary ship battling the tides of animosity, and as he sulked out of that courthouse, he knew he had sunk his own vessel.

With a clinking of glasses and the taste of cheap whiskey still lingering on his tongue, Howard officially washed his hands clean of sponsors, friends, and that lawsuit. He turned to Thelma, the wilful girl who sought vengeance and justice. “Well,” he exclaimed with a resigned laugh, “at least we can