646
1980
Jake looked up at the courthouse lobby directory, eventually settling on Judge Bacheller Flythe, one of the many courthouse sources he cultivated for his daily stories in The Augusta Chronicle.
“I need to write a long story on someone interesting,” Jake told the judge. “Someone who hasn’t been profiled before.”
Judge Flythe wandered over to the window looking out over Greene Street, pulling back his robe with his left hand and rubbing his chin with his right.
“Sugar,” Judge Flythe finally said. “If you talk to Sugar, you’ll have more stories than you’ll be able to write in one article.”