H.P. Podcraft.com.

It was a flaming sunset or late afternoon in a tiny provincial town of Pompeo, at the foot of the Pyrenees in the

husbandia side. The year must have been in the late republic for the province was

still ruled by a senatorial pro-consul instead of a Praetorian legget of Augustus and the day was the first before the Kalins of November.

The hills rose scarlet and gold to the north of the little town, and the westering sun shone

ruddly and mystically on the crude new stone

and plaster buildings of the dusty forum

and the wooden walls of the circus some distance to the east.

Groups of citizens, broad-browed Roman colonists

and coarse-haired Romanized natives,

together with obvious hybrids of the two strains,

of light-clad and cheap woolen togas, and sprinklings of helmeted legionnaires and coarse mantled black-bearded tribesmen of the circumambient Westones, all thronged the few paved streets and forum, moved by some vague and ill-defined uneasiness.

Oof.

That was the third paragraph from H.P. Lovecraft's story slash letter, the very old folk, which is one of the two stories we're covering today on the H.P. Lovecraft literary podcast.

Here at H.P.Podcraft.com. Who is that?

Oh, I'm sorry. My name is Chad Fyfer. I'm one of the co-host of this show.

Who is this speaking?

Oh, this is Chris Wacky. I'm the other co-host of this show.

And I'm not alone today with me Chad. I have I have the third

member our our dusty bottoms if you will

Michael J man man will.

Michael J-Man.

...