Obvious Problem Referred to As Just One Of Those Things

---

Act I – The Hole Beside the Hardware Store

The problem first appeared sometime between Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday morning, though no one could later agree exactly when.

By sunrise, there was a hole.

Not a metaphorical one. An actual hole.

It sat beside the old brick wall behind Chester Ray Blevins’ print shop and directly across from the side entrance of the Sequatchie Crossing Hardware & Feed Supply. It was approximately four feet wide, maybe six feet deep, and gave off the unsettling impression that the earth itself had quietly resigned overnight.

People stopped to look at it all morning.

Nobody touched it.

“That wasn’t there yesterday,” said Maggie Sue Dillard, balancing a sausage biscuit and a gallon of sweet tea while peering over the caution cone somebody had thoughtfully placed beside it.

“No ma’am,” said Chester Ray Blevins. “Ground just appears to’ve lost confidence.”

Boot Barnes leaned over carefully with his hands on his knees.

“Well now,” he muttered. “That’s somethin’.”

Daisy the hound wandered up beside him, sniffed the edge of the hole, paused thoughtfully, then sneezed once and walked away toward the diner.

The crowd accepted Daisy’s assessment as reasonable.

Clovis Strickland arrived carrying a three-ring binder labeled:
POSSIBLE EXPLANATIONS – NATURAL / FEDERAL / SATANIC

“What’s the current classification?” Clovis asked immediately.

“No classification,” Chester Ray replied.

Clovis frowned deeply.

“No classification is how societies collapse.”

Mabel Dean Ashcroft emerged from her Buick wearing gardening gloves and suspicion.

“What happened?”

“Nobody knows,” said Maggie Sue.

Mabel squinted into the hole.

“That ain’t erosion.”

“No?”

“No. Erosion has edges. This looks discouraged.”

Clovis crouched beside the opening and dropped in a pebble.

They waited.

Several seconds later they heard it strike something metallic.

The crowd shifted uneasily.

“See?” Clovis said quickly. “That right there’s evidence.”

“Evidence of what?” asked Boot.

“That’s the problem,” Clovis whispered.

Officer Kenny Joe Teeter pulled up in the sheriff’s department cruiser with the lights off but the siren briefly chirping because he accidentally leaned on something.

He stepped out holding a styrofoam coffee cup.

“What’re we looking at?”

“A hole,” said Chester Ray.

Officer Teeter nodded.

“Well.”

He took a sip.

Then he said the phrase.

“Just one of those things, I reckon.”

Silence settled over the group like humidity.

Maggie Sue blinked.

Boot repeated it uncertainly.

“Yeah… just one of those things.”

And somehow that changed everything.

The urgency leaked out of the conversation immediately.

Folks stopped asking follow-up questions.

Nobody measured the hole.

Nobody called county maintenance.

Even Clovis looked momentarily disarmed.

“Well,” he said quietly, flipping through his binder, “there ain’t really a category for ‘those things.’”

“That’s because it’s a lazy phrase,” Mabel snapped. “People say it when they don’t wanna investigate.”

Officer Teeter shrugged.

“Could be underground water.”

“Could be a sinkhole.”

“Could be old mining tunnels.”

“Could be county pipes.”

“Could be nothin’.”

Then he took another sip.

“Just one of those things.”

And there it was again.

Like a stamp.

Like paperwork getting approved.

Across the street, Shelley Fawn Wexler stood filming the scene for the town Facebook page.

“Okay everybody,” Shelley announced into her phone camera, “official update from downtown Sequatchie Crossing: mysterious ground event currently classified as ‘one of those things.’ Further updates pending emotional energy.”

Trixie Jo Bartlett burst out laughing from the diner doorway.

“That oughta go on the town seal.”

Pastor Arnold Peeler happened to be walking by carrying devotional pamphlets for Sunday service.

He looked into the hole.

Then at the people.

Then back at the hole.

“Hm.”

Everybody waited for wisdom.

Pastor Peeler adjusted his glasses.

“Well,” he said gently, “sometimes life presents us with uncertainties.”

Mabel crossed her arms.

“Don’t you start.”

Pastor Peeler raised both hands carefully.

“I’m merely sayin’ not every mystery requires panic.”

“Nor does it require surrender,” Mabel shot back.

But Pastor Peeler had already drifted into the dangerous middle ground of passive acceptance.

“Could simply be…” he hesitated.

The whole crowd leaned in.

“…one of those things.”

Mabel stared at him in open betrayal.

“Oh for heaven’s sake.”

---

Act II – The Phrase Spreads

By noon, the phrase had spread farther than the hole itself.

At Norma Jean’s Family Diner, Tiffany Annette Roark repeated it while refilling coffee.

“The ice machine’s leaking again.”

“Well,” said Doug “Doughboy” Teeter, not looking up from his hash browns, “just one of those things.”

“Your truck’s smoking.”

“One of those things.”

“The jukebox caught fire yesterday.”

“Electrical,” Doughboy said confidently. “One of them things.”

Trixie Jo sat at the counter stirring Sweet’N Low into tea she never drank.

“You realize nobody’s solving anything today.”

“People’re tired,” Tiffany said.

“People’re avoidant.”

“That too.”

At the corner booth, Brett and Alyssa Crenshaw quietly argued over whether their porch had begun leaning more aggressively than usual.

“It’s definitely lower on one side,” Alyssa whispered.

“House settles.”

“The dog rolled downhill in his sleep.”

Brett paused.

“…just one of those things?”

Alyssa stared at him with visible disappointment.

Across town at the sheriff’s office, Sheriff Peeler sat behind his desk reviewing three unrelated complaint forms.

One concerned raccoons in a church attic.

One involved suspicious whistling near the feed store.

One simply read:
“Something feels off.”

Officer Kenny Joe Teeter entered carrying two chili dogs.

“Town’s gettin’ worked up over the hole.”

Sheriff Peeler grunted.

“Anybody hurt?”

“No sir.”

“Any crime?”

“No sir.”

Sheriff Peeler nodded slowly.

“Well then.”

Officer Teeter smiled knowingly.

“Just one of those things?”

Sheriff Peeler sighed.

“I hate how well that phrase works.”

Outside, Clovis stood beside his pickup truck mapping town incidents on a corkboard with colored thumbtacks.

Shelley Fawn approached cautiously.

“You made another board?”

“This one’s temporary.”

“That’s what you said about the pigeon map.”

“The pigeons escalated.”

Clovis pointed dramatically.

“Look at this pattern. Water main break in March. Church air conditioner collapse in April. Sinkhole now.”

Shelley folded her arms.

“You’re connectin’ random events.”

“Exactly.”

“That sentence ain’t helping your case.”

Clovis lowered his voice.

“The phrase is spreading faster than the problem itself.”

Shelley tilted her head.

“You think people’re using it to avoid thinkin’?”

“I think,” Clovis whispered, “it’s becoming administrative anesthesia.”

Shelley blinked.

“That’s disturbingly articulate for this town.”

“I practiced it.”

Meanwhile, Mabel Dean Ashcroft had reached her limit.

She marched into Town Hall carrying photographs, handwritten notes, and what appeared to be a pie server being used as a pointer.

Lurleen Davenport looked up from her desk.

“Oh dear.”

Mabel slapped the photographs down.

“This town is emotionally outsourcing responsibility.”

Lurleen adjusted her glasses.

“That’s… oddly specific.”

“You cannot just call everything ‘one of those things’ until civilization folds like a card table.”

Evelyn Grace Tipton emerged from the records room carrying folders.

“What’s happenin’?”

Mabel pointed at the hole photos.

“Ground’s collapsing, pipes’re burstin’, buildings’re tilting, and people’re respondin’ like cows watchin’ rain.”

Evelyn considered this carefully.

“Well.”

Mabel narrowed her eyes immediately.

“Don’t you dare.”

Evelyn sighed.

“I was only gonna say some things happen.”

“That’s not an explanation!”

“It’s emotionally affordable,” Lurleen offered.

Mabel groaned loud enough to rattle the blinds.

---

Act III – Sunday Acceptance

Sunday morning arrived humid and slow.

At New Mercy Fellowship Church, Pastor Arnold Peeler delivered a sermon that accidentally reinforced the problem.

“Now friends,” he said from the pulpit, “there are moments in life when we seek explanations for every hardship…”

Mabel immediately sat up straighter.

“…but perhaps not every burden can be fully understood.”

Clovis whispered to Boot.

“He’s driftin’ toward it.”

Boot nodded nervously.

“Mm-hm.”

Pastor Peeler continued.

“Sometimes storms come.”

“Sometimes roofs leak.”

“Sometimes tires flatten.”

“And sometimes…”

The congregation collectively inhaled.

“…it’s simply one of those things.”

Half the church murmured agreement.

Mabel nearly stood up in protest.

Sister Lila Mae “Hallelujah” Pruitt rose first instead.

“PASTOR,” she declared dramatically, “that phrase is spiritually evasive.”

The sanctuary froze.

Pastor Peeler blinked twice.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

Sister Lila Mae pointed toward heaven with terrifying conviction.

“The Lord gave humanity discernment, not verbal shrugging.”

Several people muttered approval.

Others looked uncomfortable because they themselves had already used the phrase at least twelve times that week.

Boot leaned toward Clovis.

“This may become a denomination issue.”

Clovis nodded gravely.

“Could split the Methodists.”

Tiffany Annette Roark whispered from the back pew:

“We don’t even have Methodists.”

“Not yet,” Clovis said.

Pastor Peeler attempted recovery.

“I merely intended comfort.”

“But comfort ain’t clarity,” Sister Lila Mae declared.

“Amen,” Mabel barked loudly.

The church divided instantly into three categories:

1. People defending the phrase.
2. People opposing the phrase.
3. People pretending not to understand the discussion while secretly terrified.

Daisy the hound wandered lazily down the center aisle during the tension, paused beside the offering plate, scratched once, then continued toward the fellowship hall.

The congregation watched her leave.

And somehow the moment passed.

As though everyone silently agreed to move on because the dog had.

Outside after service, conversations erupted across the parking lot.

Coach Freddie Stubblefield stood beside Sonny Morales discussing the hole.

“All I’m sayin’,” Coach Freddie said, “is if the football field opens up and swallows the marching band, folks’ll still say ‘those things happen.’”

Sonny shrugged.

“That’s because nobody wants responsibility no more.”

“Responsibility’s expensive.”

“That too.”

Nearby, Mabel cornered Pastor Peeler beside his Buick.

“You’re encouragin’ intellectual surrender.”

“I’m encouraging perspective.”

“You’re encouragin’ laziness with a hymnbook.”

Pastor Peeler sighed deeply.

“Mabel, people need phrases that help them cope.”

“They need plumbing inspections.”

“That too.”

“But one’s harder.”

Pastor Peeler quietly looked toward the horizon.

“That’s exactly the problem.”

---

Act IV – The Committee Forms Anyway

Despite insisting there was no actual emergency, Town Hall formed a committee Monday afternoon.

Because in Sequatchie Crossing, denying problems and forming committees about them were considered compatible behaviors.

The sign on the folding table read:

AD HOC COMMUNITY OBSERVATION TASK FORCE
(Temporary Pending Clarification)

Nobody understood what that meant.

Lurleen Davenport chaired the meeting because she had accidentally made eye contact with the mayor last week.

Attendees included:

• Mabel Dean Ashcroft
• Clovis Strickland
• Boot Barnes
• Shelley Fawn Wexler
• Officer Kenny Joe Teeter
• Mister Wade Langston
• Maggie Sue Dillard
• and Doug “Doughboy” Teeter, who thought there’d be snacks.

“There are no snacks,” Lurleen announced.

Doughboy looked wounded.

“Well what exactly are we observin’ then?”

“The hole,” said Lurleen.

“The phrase,” corrected Mabel.

“The emotional climate,” added Shelley while typing notes onto her tablet.

Clovis unfolded a massive hand-drawn diagram.

“This chart tracks instances of the phrase over seventy-two hours.”

Officer Teeter stared.

“You made a heat map?”

“It became necessary.”

Mister Wade Langston adjusted his suspenders.

“Back in my day folks used different phrases.”

“Like what?” Shelley asked.

Wade thought carefully.

“‘Could be worse.’”

“That’s the same phrase in overalls,” Mabel muttered.

Boot raised one cautious finger.

“I don’t always mean nothin’ by it when I say it.”

Mabel softened slightly.

“I know, Boot.”

He looked relieved.

“Sometimes people just… get tired.”

The room quieted.

That landed harder than expected.

Shelley slowly lowered her tablet.

Officer Teeter leaned back in his chair.

“My daddy used to say it whenever bills piled up.”

Clovis frowned thoughtfully.

“So the phrase ain’t ignorance. It’s exhaustion.”

Mabel hesitated.

“Well… maybe partly.”

Lurleen scribbled something onto her legal pad.

COMMUNITY FATIGUE
underlined twice.

Then Doughboy ruined the moment.

“So are there snacks later or no?”

---

Act V – The Investigation Nobody Wanted

By Tuesday morning, Clovis had escalated matters beyond reason.

He arrived downtown wearing a reflective vest labeled:
CIVIC OBSERVER

Nobody had authorized this.

He carried:

• measuring tape,
• graph paper,
• two flashlights,
• and a disposable camera from 2007.

Boot met him beside the hole.

“You really doin’ this?”

“Civilizations decay gradually, Boot.”

“That don’t answer my question.”

Clovis pointed at the hole dramatically.

“Every town reaches a point where phrases replace solutions.”

Boot scratched his chin.

“That sounds true enough to worry me.”

Nearby, Chester Ray Blevins swept dust from the print shop doorway.

“You boys findin’ answers?”

“We’re seeking truth,” Clovis declared.

Chester Ray nodded slowly.

“Well don’t fall in.”

Mabel soon arrived carrying muffins nobody thanked her for.

“I checked county records,” she announced. “There used to be an old drainage tunnel under this block.”

Clovis gasped triumphantly.

“SEE?”

“Tunnel collapsed sometime in the seventies.”

Boot blinked.

“So this actually does have an explanation.”

“Yes.”

Everyone became quiet.

Because somehow that was less satisfying.

Officer Kenny Joe Teeter walked up holding fresh coffee.

“So what’re we thinkin’?”

Mabel crossed her arms.

“We’re thinkin’ people stopped askin’ questions too early.”

Officer Teeter looked into the hole again.

“Well.”

Mabel pointed aggressively.

“Don’t.”

He sighed.

“I wasn’t gonna.”

“You inhaled like you were.”

Shelley Fawn filmed the exchange from across the street.

“This is officially the most emotionally tense hole our town has ever produced.”

Daisy wandered back toward the crowd, sniffed Clovis’ flashlight, then sat beside Boot.

Boot rubbed her ears thoughtfully.

“You know what bothers me?”

“What?” Clovis asked.

Boot looked embarrassed.

“The phrase kinda makes folks feel better.”

Nobody answered immediately.

Because he was right.

---

Act VI – Norma Jean’s Declares a Policy

By Wednesday, the phrase had infected business operations.

At Norma Jean’s Family Diner, Tiffany Annette Roark taped a handwritten sign beside the register:

NO “ONE OF THOSE THINGS” RESPONSES BEFORE 10 A.M.

Customers complained immediately.

“What if it genuinely is one of those things?” asked Sonny Morales.

“Then elaborate,” Tiffany snapped.

Coach Freddie Stubblefield nearly spit out coffee laughing.

“That might be the strongest regulation this town’s passed in years.”

At the counter, RT Mullins attempted to order biscuits while avoiding philosophical accountability.

“My eggs’re cold.”

Tiffany folded her arms.

“And?”

RT opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

Then sighed.

“Could I possibly receive warmer eggs due to identifiable kitchen circumstances?”

Tiffany pointed proudly.

“See? Growth.”

Mabel sat nearby reading the county tunnel records aloud to Shelley.

“There were six maintenance complaints filed in 1974.”

“Did they fix it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Mabel flipped pages.

“Apparently they called it ‘seasonal settling.’”

Shelley burst out laughing.

“That’s the same phrase wearing a fake mustache.”

Across the diner, Doughboy Teeter stared at the sign.

“I feel attacked personally.”

“You should,” Tiffany said.

Pastor Peeler entered quietly around lunchtime.

The entire diner turned toward him expectantly.

He paused beside the coffee station.

“I understand there’s concern regarding my sermon.”

Mabel nodded sternly.

“You accidentally baptized avoidance.”

Pastor Peeler sighed.

“That was not my intent.”

“What was?”

He considered carefully.

“People are overwhelmed.”

The diner quieted again.

“Everything costs more.”

“Everyone’s tired.”

“Every week there’s another thing nobody can fix.”

He gestured softly toward the window.

“So folks reach for phrases that lower the emotional temperature.”

Nobody interrupted.

Even Mabel listened.

Pastor Peeler continued.

“The danger comes when comfort becomes permission to stop thinking.”

Shelley whispered:
“That’s actually pretty good.”

Trixie Jo nodded.

“Man finally circled back around.”

Daisy wandered beneath the tables looking for dropped bacon and entirely avoiding the philosophical debate.

---

Act VII – Town Hall Public Forum

Thursday evening brought the official public forum.

Attendance exceeded expectations because residents believed there might be refreshments.

There were not.

Town Hall filled with folding chairs, murmuring voices, and low-grade suspicion.

Lurleen Davenport opened proceedings.

“We are gathered to discuss concerns regarding repeated use of generalized explanatory phrases in response to civic uncertainty.”

Nobody clapped.

Mostly because nobody understood the sentence.

Clovis approached the podium first with visual aids.

“This chart demonstrates a forty-three percent increase in phrase dependency following infrastructure confusion.”

Sheriff Peeler whispered to Officer Teeter:

“I genuinely don’t know if he’s helpin’.”

Officer Teeter whispered back:

“I don’t think Clovis knows either.”

Mabel spoke next.

“We have confused resignation for wisdom.”

Several residents shifted uncomfortably.

“We don’t investigate because we’re tired.”

“We don’t challenge explanations because conflict’s exhausting.”

“And eventually entire towns begin operating on verbal wallpaper.”

Pastor Peeler nodded quietly from the second row.

Then Mister Wade Langston stood slowly.

“I’d like to say somethin’.”

The room hushed.

Wade adjusted his suspenders.

“My wife passed eleven years ago.”

Nobody moved.

“And after that, people kept tellin’ me different explanations for grief.”

He looked down at his hands.

“Truth was… some mornings I simply needed a phrase that got me to lunchtime.”

Silence settled across Town Hall.

Even Mabel softened again.

Wade continued quietly.

“But there’s a difference between survivin’ and refusin’ to see.”

Clovis slowly lowered his charts.

“That’s… actually the best summary so far.”

Shelley typed furiously onto her tablet.

Doughboy raised his hand.

“Can I ask somethin’?”

Lurleen sighed.

“Go ahead.”

“Are we still gettin’ snacks?”

The room erupted laughing so hard the tension finally broke.

Even Mabel laughed.

Especially because Doughboy genuinely meant it.

---

Act VIII – The Repair Crew Arrives

Friday morning, the county repair crew finally arrived.

Two trucks.

Three workers.

One orange backhoe.

The entire town gathered like spectators at a parade.

The lead worker climbed out chewing sunflower seeds.

“What’s the issue?”

Thirty people pointed simultaneously.

He stared into the hole for approximately four seconds.

“Old drainage tunnel collapsed.”

Mabel folded her arms triumphantly.

“THANK YOU.”

The worker shrugged.

“Happens sometimes.”

Half the crowd visibly twitched.

Boot whispered nervously:

“Oh no.”

The worker continued casually.

“Just one of those things.”

The crowd groaned collectively.

Even Sheriff Peeler rubbed his face.

“You ain’t helpin’, buddy.”

The worker blinked.

“What?”

Clovis stepped forward urgently.

“Sir, respectfully, your phraseology perpetuates civic stagnation.”

The worker stared at him for a very long time.

“…you from around here?”

“Unfortunately yes.”

The crew began repairs anyway.

Backhoe engines growled.

Dirt shifted.

Pipes emerged from underground like archaeological confessions.

Shelley Fawn livestreamed the entire thing.

“Historic moment here in Sequatchie Crossing as actual measurable reality interrupts abstract avoidance.”

Daisy barked twice at the backhoe then lost interest entirely.

Children threw gravel.

Adults argued about drainage.

Mabel stood beside the caution tape like a victorious general.

Pastor Peeler approached her gently.

“You were right.”

“Partially.”

“That’s more generous than usual.”

She sighed.

“Well. Folks do need comfort.”

Pastor Peeler smiled softly.

“And comfort needs boundaries.”

Nearby, Boot watched the workers quietly.

“You know,” he said to Clovis, “maybe people ain’t weak for sayin’ it.”

Clovis adjusted his vest.

“No.”

“They just shouldn’t stop there.”

Clovis nodded.

“That’s the whole thing right there.”

---

Act IX – The Phrase Evolves

By Saturday, Sequatchie Crossing had changed slightly.

Not dramatically.

Nobody in town became philosophers overnight.

The diner still burned toast occasionally.

The sheriff’s office still misplaced paperwork.

The church sound system still squealed during hymns.

But conversations had become just a little longer.

At Norma Jean’s, Tiffany announced:

“Coffee machine broke.”

RT Mullins opened his mouth instinctively.

Then paused.

“…probably oughta check the wiring.”

Tiffany smiled proudly.

“That’s progress.”

At the hardware store, Chester Ray noticed rain leaking through the roof.

“Could be one of those things,” Boot started automatically.

Then he stopped himself.

“…or maybe them shingles finally gave up.”

“Now you’re diagnosing,” Chester Ray said approvingly.

Outside Town Hall, Shelley posted a new community bulletin:

IT MAY IN FACT BE “ONE OF THOSE THINGS,”
BUT PLEASE SPECIFY THE THING.

The sign received overwhelming support.

Clovis attempted to laminate it.

Naturally, the laminator jammed.

He stared at the smoking machine.

The entire room watched silently.

Finally Clovis sighed.

“Well.”

Mabel pointed immediately.

“Careful.”

Clovis closed his eyes.

“Mechanical roller tension failure due to age and dust accumulation.”

The room burst into applause.

Even Daisy barked once in approval before laying back down beneath the bench.

That afternoon, Pastor Peeler gathered with Mabel, Boot, Sheriff Peeler, Shelley, Clovis, and several others outside the diner while the sunset painted orange across Main Street.

Sheriff Peeler leaned back in his chair.

“Town seems calmer.”

“Town seems more awake,” Mabel corrected.

Boot nodded thoughtfully.

“I reckon phrases ain’t bad.”

“No,” said Pastor Peeler.

“They become dangerous when they end curiosity.”

Shelley glanced around town.

The repaired pavement already looked ordinary again.

People crossed over it without stopping.

Traffic moved.

Children laughed.

Somebody argued about bait prices near the feed store.

Life resumed.

Which was exactly how towns survived.

Not by solving everything.

Not by understanding everything.

But by continuing anyway.

The danger had never been the phrase itself.

It was the relief people felt when the phrase ended the conversation.

Daisy suddenly lifted her head toward the repaired street.

She stared for a long moment.

Everyone turned nervously.

“What is it?” Clovis whispered.

Daisy sniffed once.

Then wandered off toward somebody carrying fried chicken.

The group watched her leave.

Boot smiled faintly.

“Well,” he said carefully, “that appears to be food-related canine prioritization.”

Mabel nodded proudly.

“See? That’s healthier already.”

---

Epilogue – The New Town Saying

Three weeks later, the phrase still existed.

Of course it did.

Some habits survive longer than potholes.

But now whenever somebody in Sequatchie Crossing said:
“Just one of those things…”

someone else usually replied:

“Which thing specifically?”

And oddly enough, that tiny additional question changed more than anybody expected.

Not overnight.

Not dramatically.

But enough.

Enough to make people look twice.

Enough to make conversations continue a little longer before surrendering.

Enough to remind the town that explanations matter, even imperfect ones.

At Norma Jean’s Family Diner, somebody eventually painted a small wooden sign near the register:

SHRUG RESPONSIBLY.

Nobody admitted doing it.

Most assumed Shelley.

Clovis suspected federal involvement.

Mabel approved of it publicly while privately criticizing the lettering.

Pastor Peeler referenced it once in a sermon.

Doughboy still thought it referred to jacket sizes.

And Daisy the hound, who had never once concerned herself with philosophical evasiveness, continued approaching life with remarkable clarity:

If something smelled dangerous, pause.

If something smelled complicated, leave.

If something smelled like fried chicken, proceed immediately.

Which, several residents quietly admitted, was probably the healthiest operating philosophy in town.

---

Disclaimer

The events, businesses, conversations, holes, drainage tunnels, committees, phrases, emotional evasions, laminated signage disputes, and philosophically indifferent hounds depicted in this story are entirely fictional and belong solely to the satirical world of Sequatchie Crossing Dispatch.

No real residents of Dunlap, Tennessee were referenced or portrayed.

Any resemblance to actual civic conversations, infrastructure concerns, administrative language, emotionally exhausted communities, or suspiciously vague explanations is purely coincidental and almost certainly “just one of those things.”

---

At Sequatchie Crossing, we tell the stories of Sequatchie Crossing.

Please share this post with your friends, family, or business associates who may want follow the news from Sequatchie Crossing.