A WIDE OPEN PARKING LOT

The other morning there were a family of four raccoons there, this morning a nineteen sixties or seventies sedan from which emanated thumpa thumpa thumpa music as the owner parked. Both of these situations are probably connected to a donut shop nearby.
It accounts for much of the street activity at off hours.

Donut shops, I would think, are rare in the farmlands. Country folk are not known for much activity outside when it is dark. That's when the unspeakables roam about. Rural kansas. Midsommar. Texas Chainsaw. Children of the Corn. Pumpkin Head. The Tall Grass.

It's all Mike Johnson and cow country out there beyond city limits.

I have great respect for America's heartland and the simple religious societies there. Shan't ever go there, because banjo playing toothless salt of the earth types aren't my thing and I don't have a shovel, but evenso.


In my densely populated urban neighborhood it's all about donuts, raccoons, and owners of classic cars. A kinder, more innocent America. One which voted for sweetness and light in the last election, rather than a neo-Stalinist free-for-all where the weakest members of society are held in check by a lack of healthcare and education, random raids and deportations, a prevalence of junk food chains, and jack-booted goombas.

The key difference between here and there is that we have functioning eschools, libraries, and emergency rooms. Rather than ignorance, inbreeding, and Mike Johnson.

Far fewer Marjorie Taylor Greens and Louis Gomperts here.

They are halfway between Karen and Mad Max.

Don't even think of parking there.
It's bat country.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================