"Therein lies the problem." Sheriff Clay says pulling handcuffs from his pocket.
"This is just a little private use liquor, John" Bill Wade offers.
"Your parole is very specific. No liquor making. Period. Put your hands behind your back." The sheriff orders.
"Oh hell John. All you have here is some empty bottles. Old sugar bags and some rusted tin. What is my crime?" Wade counters.
"That still is enough to put you back inside. Let's go." The sheriff leading Wade to the waiting cruiser.
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