LIMITED Ol' Mash Bandit
Every full moon the old still starts running. Nobody lights the fire, nobody hauls the mash.
Yet by midnight, fresh moonshine is cooling on the table.
If you're lucky, you'll never see who made it. If you're unlucky, you'll catch him looking back at you. An old raccoon in ragged clothes, working without a sound. He never stops pouring, he never hurries. And no one has ever been foolish enough to ask him for a jar.
By dawn, the fire is out, the still is cold, the table is empty. Only muddy tracks remain. The swamp has a way of keeping its own secrets. One of them is called...
Ol' Mash Bandit.
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