editor

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I didn’t think the Stones cared about money. My father slid the platter of fried chicken toward me, and I saw in his eyes, the eyes of a man who started out in the world plowing a Georgia mule for fifty cents a day, a sad, wise look, a look that said, Nobody doesn’t care about the money real estate.

HERE we are, roughly the midway point of summer, when ocean breezes and misty mountains should be our aim, only to be brought back to reality. The hard tangible reality that is real estate.