It was August of 2000. I had been living in Asheville for just over two weeks. With abandon I had thrown myself into the ways and customs of that curious city in the North Carolina mountains. And not just for sake of my new job as investigative reporter.
No, it was more personal than that. Asheville was finally a crack at life on my own, now 26 and a year after an extended season of college. I wanted to make the most of it. To make an escape from previous disappointments with the breaking of new ground.
Part and parcel of that was meeting new people. And being a reporter gave me an edge. Especially in Asheville. A town my landlady had described as “a mixed bowl of nuts”. Thirty percent rock-ribbed Christian conservative, thirty percent very liberal, and forty percent anything and everything in between. Being ...


