The dilapidated duplexes at the top of the hill at first glance appear abandoned with plywood where the windows should be. Three semi-wild dogs move swiftly across the semi-arid landscape. They have the shape of domestic dogs, but they're darker somehow and they move in quick, coordinated lethality like a predawn patrol avoiding detection. The duplexes contain a few people squalidly. They also contain drugs and one or two small children.
Meanwhile, you are walking through the hotel parking lot in running shoes without socks, a fleece jacket with nothing underneath, and shorts with a button fly and tie set-up designed for sleeping. You don't venture out in pajamas normally, so this feels transgressive. Outlaw. You wish your nuts felt heavier.
A flock of geese fly over in the low grey sky. They don't really honk like the Canada Geese up North. It's a different sound - strange and foreign, if you like. Exotic, if your prefer. Mindset.
You are looking across the interstate at the TA truck stop. They'll be serving Thanksgiving dinner today if no one else is. Plenty of trucks in the lot. You aren't the only one, but you do slide into self pity effortlessly.
At Stripes, Marcel is dancing at the register.
You say, "Thanks for being here today".
He smiles, takes out an earbud, "I'm sorry. Wha'd you say, sir?
You say it again, and he tells you it means time and a half for him. You place a plastic packaged raspberry danish on the counter and ask him for two dollars in quarters, if he can spare them from the drawer.
He tells you "not a problem, sir", counts back your change from the danish with particular alacrity, breaks open a role of quarters on the edge of the counter like a master chef cracking an egg, counts you out two dollars for the laundry, and wishes you Happy Thanksgiving with a wide smile.
You walk back to the hotel, not wearing any underwear, listening to exotic birds cross a low hanging, West Texas sky thinking about what people mean when they say they're grateful.
Meanwhile, you are walking through the hotel parking lot in running shoes without socks, a fleece jacket with nothing underneath, and shorts with a button fly and tie set-up designed for sleeping. You don't venture out in pajamas normally, so this feels transgressive. Outlaw. You wish your nuts felt heavier.
A flock of geese fly over in the low grey sky. They don't really honk like the Canada Geese up North. It's a different sound - strange and foreign, if you like. Exotic, if your prefer. Mindset.
You are looking across the interstate at the TA truck stop. They'll be serving Thanksgiving dinner today if no one else is. Plenty of trucks in the lot. You aren't the only one, but you do slide into self pity effortlessly.
At Stripes, Marcel is dancing at the register.
You say, "Thanks for being here today".
He smiles, takes out an earbud, "I'm sorry. Wha'd you say, sir?
You say it again, and he tells you it means time and a half for him. You place a plastic packaged raspberry danish on the counter and ask him for two dollars in quarters, if he can spare them from the drawer.
He tells you "not a problem, sir", counts back your change from the danish with particular alacrity, breaks open a role of quarters on the edge of the counter like a master chef cracking an egg, counts you out two dollars for the laundry, and wishes you Happy Thanksgiving with a wide smile.
You walk back to the hotel, not wearing any underwear, listening to exotic birds cross a low hanging, West Texas sky thinking about what people mean when they say they're grateful.
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