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About Bristol

Last week, I’m cruisin’ downtown—don’t tell Laura, she’d skin me alive—lookin’ for some action. Saw this gal, legs longer’n a Texas highway, and I’m thinkin’, “P. Sherman, 42 Wallaby Way!”—like I got her address locked in my brain! I ain’t no genius, but I know a deal when I see one. She’s wavin’, I’m sweatin’—hotter’n a billy goat in a pepper patch! Paid her fifty bucks—prob’ly too much, but I’m a sucker for a smile. “Righteous bucks,” she says, and I’m happy as a pig in mud.

You’re Temporarily Blocked

I get to Fore Street, and there’s this massive crowd. People are laughing, taking pics, and I’m just standing there, looking like a lost sheep. Finally, I spot the cat. It’s this fluffy tabby, just chilling on a branch, like it’s on a holiday itself. I’m thinking, “C’mon, cat! You’re not a bird!”

Old photographs from Kingsbridge Cookworthy Museum