3:13 PM |
My town has a post office, a hardware store, and a Turkey Hill. Turkey Hill is like a 7-11 with gas pumps. It has clean restrooms that you can use even if you don't buy any thing. There used to be four gas stations but they're shuttered. On the corner there is also a veteran selling tie-died t-shirts. They wave like flags in front of his van.
There is a farm down the street that I particularly love. One day, the black bird migration went right through the road in front of it. I stopped my truck and let them fly right down my windshield. It was magic.
There is a farm down the street that I particularly love. One day, the black bird migration went right through the road in front of it. I stopped my truck and let them fly right down my windshield. It was magic.
My almost-real imaginary boyfriend asked where the traffic is. I'm it.
We've had some snow lately, and the same barn was wrapped in pink and orange and red from the setting sun.
What I really love about my town is that we take anything untoward quite seriously. Two days after I moved in, there was a knock on the door. I opened it to a fully uniformed policeman. He needed to ask me some questions. Great. I haven't even been here long enough to brush my teeth, and I'm in trouble.
Well, the officer asked me if I had seen anybody suspicious around my place. I did not. How about that part of your property? He turned his chin in that direction. Nothing. He left his card for me to call if I could recall any more.
The old man across the street had had his mailbox bashed in. They were looking for the guy who did it.
My imaginary boyfriend loves it here.