Once, while I was at working at a boutique, an drunk, old, leathery man came into the shop. He looked like he was right out of the woods. I'd liken his appearance to that of an ancient coon skin hunter.
He began to mumble a few indiscernible words to me. I struggled to make sense of the gibberish. Then quite clearly, he said "he wanted to stuff me into a gunny sack".
A gunny sack probably not as nice as the one pictured here, but it's the thought that counts.
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