When Jerome Kildee built his little house against the giant redwood, he had fancied himself a philosopher. He was going to be a hermit—a lazy recluse who didn't have to work or think.
Now here he was facing a crisis that needed immediate attention. At least that's what he would call the dozens of raccoons and spotted skunks that were now living in and under his home, coming and going as they saw fit.” DRIVE
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